Eyes All Over
Years ago, when I first saw an image of an armed, flaming, naked, stocky dude surfing on an exquisitely pissed-off tigress, on a sun-disk, on a pink lotus, on a turquoise cloud, above flowers, a pair of courting birds, and rocks and streams, a spontaneous, joyful FUCK, YEAH!!! arose from deep inside me. I was studying Tibetan thangka painting – of which this is an exquisite example – in a small school outside Dharamsala. Reading late into the monsoony night, I learned that the beings I saw depicted were Mandarava, an Indian woman meditation master who sometimes appears in rampant feline guise; and Dorje Drölo, a fierce form of the great Buddhist teacher Padmasambhava. Elsewhere, they are represented as a mild-mannered laywoman and a monk. Sensing that something important was happening in this outrageous painting, I made a careful brush-and-ink study and filed Dorje Drölo and Mandarava away under the heading Things I Don't Quite Get, and Will Get Back To Someday.
Meanwhile, I began to feel increasingly guided by the question: What would it look like to be awake in the whole body? To be living not just from the busy, thinking head, but from the belly, elbows, shoulder-blades and rump? I remembered Dorje Drölo and Mandarava. When it came time to envision a new 108-day garment-based devotional practice (I had previously completed two others in the past year), I thought of an all-over Suit with eyes, to investigate the wide-awake, flaming, gazing skin I'd been so drawn to in the painting. I sensed I wanted a dark color, like a black-ground thangka, so the eyes could shine forth from it.
Meanwhile, I began to feel increasingly guided by the question: What would it look like to be awake in the whole body? To be living not just from the busy, thinking head, but from the belly, elbows, shoulder-blades and rump? I remembered Dorje Drölo and Mandarava. When it came time to envision a new 108-day garment-based devotional practice (I had previously completed two others in the past year), I thought of an all-over Suit with eyes, to investigate the wide-awake, flaming, gazing skin I'd been so drawn to in the painting. I sensed I wanted a dark color, like a black-ground thangka, so the eyes could shine forth from it.
Spaceship Custodian Suit
Much cruising of the internet ensued: jumpsuits, military flight suits, prison uniforms, and assorted workwear. Then, on French and German industrial supply sites, I started seeing wonderful combinaisons with two prominent, full-length zippers that gave them a speedy, sexy quality and would facilitate sewing inside the legs. I ordered one in bottle-green, which arrived a few weeks later, compressed into a very small box covered in international shipping labels.
To get to know the Suit, I wore it around before ever doing anything more to it. Uniforms cut through sartorial Gordian knots of Special vs. Regular clothing. Just this, they say. I wore the Suit to my Clinical Mental Health Counseling graduation at Goddard College, grateful beyond words to have found such an empowering alternative to A Nice Dress. I called it my Spaceship Custodian Suit. People asked to unzip it. I felt powerful, subtly transgressive of gender norms, and very happy in my body.
So began the practice of 108 Eyes. I committed to 108 days of sewing, photography, writing, and wearing the Suit in all the places my life would bring me between early September and the cusp of the new year.
I adopted the garment as a self-imposed devotional predicament and uniform for who-knew-what work, yet to be encountered. As I had many times before, I turned once again towards my life, saying, Take from me all that is not free. I picked up the needle, and started listening.
To get to know the Suit, I wore it around before ever doing anything more to it. Uniforms cut through sartorial Gordian knots of Special vs. Regular clothing. Just this, they say. I wore the Suit to my Clinical Mental Health Counseling graduation at Goddard College, grateful beyond words to have found such an empowering alternative to A Nice Dress. I called it my Spaceship Custodian Suit. People asked to unzip it. I felt powerful, subtly transgressive of gender norms, and very happy in my body.
So began the practice of 108 Eyes. I committed to 108 days of sewing, photography, writing, and wearing the Suit in all the places my life would bring me between early September and the cusp of the new year.
I adopted the garment as a self-imposed devotional predicament and uniform for who-knew-what work, yet to be encountered. As I had many times before, I turned once again towards my life, saying, Take from me all that is not free. I picked up the needle, and started listening.
Which eyes are open now?
Eye in the back of the right hip, where I landed hard during Aikido practice yesterday morning. Eye in the belly, content and clear-seeing with carrot soup. Eye in the lower lip, slightly pursed with concentration. Comfortable eye in the crease of the left hip. Eyes in the back of the ribcage, tender from wrestling. Each one sings, Open, here, now, awake. Eyes in the viscera, eyes of the nervous system, inward and outward eyes. Loud, insistent eyes and subtle ones. Pressure-eyes and tingle-eyes, eyes released and made spacious through willing awareness. This embodied being thrums with knowing.
I never know what I will find, when I begin a project like this from the seed of a simple plan. Sew or print one eye per day on this Suit, for 108 days. Wear the Suit. Write daily. Pay attention. I look for a clear container to engage with every day, and I make sure it's not so tight that I seal myself off from what is coming to meet me.
I never know what I will find, when I begin a project like this from the seed of a simple plan. Sew or print one eye per day on this Suit, for 108 days. Wear the Suit. Write daily. Pay attention. I look for a clear container to engage with every day, and I make sure it's not so tight that I seal myself off from what is coming to meet me.
What I know now that I didn't know before:
Wrinkles are physical repositories of human knowing; we wake up together, or not at all. Intimate eye-study deepens appreciation for body-intelligence. Improvised regalia in public elicits fear, indifference, and joy in roughly equal measure. Having a secret pink felt penis sewn inside one's Suit is a gateway for mischievous. compassionate insight.
Many levels of intimacy opened with this project: with the people who graciously shared their eyes with me; with my own experience; with the world that called to me every day, saying, Stop here. Rest here. Look closer. Each photograph unfolded as an improvisational call-and-response with What Is. I attuned to what had arisen that day, where I was, which surfaces were available to support my tripod-less camera, and what was unfolding in light and darkness.
I have no idea how many eyes actually wound up on the Suit. The intention of 108 days held strong, but between the printing and the sewing, the exact number got a little fuzzy. Which actually feels right. Ask the body of the world, How many eyes? And what you will hear in response is a sometimes-gentle, always-blazing blink.
Many levels of intimacy opened with this project: with the people who graciously shared their eyes with me; with my own experience; with the world that called to me every day, saying, Stop here. Rest here. Look closer. Each photograph unfolded as an improvisational call-and-response with What Is. I attuned to what had arisen that day, where I was, which surfaces were available to support my tripod-less camera, and what was unfolding in light and darkness.
I have no idea how many eyes actually wound up on the Suit. The intention of 108 days held strong, but between the printing and the sewing, the exact number got a little fuzzy. Which actually feels right. Ask the body of the world, How many eyes? And what you will hear in response is a sometimes-gentle, always-blazing blink.