MSP...Do You Have It?

MSP.  My Sensory Perception.  In my last post, Carpe Diem, I took a somewhat lighthearted look at living for the moment.  But, with the death of a close friend’s mother and contemplating the poor health of my father, my thoughts have become more serious over the past week.  From thoughts of dying and living, I began to explore several ideas.  What would you say to a loved one if you knew you would never see that person again?  What would you do if you knew today would be your last?  Have you made each day count?  Have you explored life?  Have you lived?  After nearly a week of struggling to organize my thoughts for several different posts on these ideas, I finally realized there was a connection between the themes I was focusing on. 

As our species and society continue to evolve, we all find ourselves racing through space and time at what seems like an exponentially increasing pace.  Often we lose sight of all that surrounds us.  We never take the time to stop and smell the proverbial roses.  Think about this for a moment.  If you had to describe many of the sensations you experience throughout the course of a day, how well could you convey those experiences?  How well could you describe life?  Could you easily describe the feel of running water rushing over your fingertips?  Could you readily describe the sights, the smells, the sounds, and the sensations that greet you every second of your life?  Most likely you would have to stop and think about it for a while.  In fact, you may even find it necessary to go experience these things and take notes of what you are feeling.

But what if you never got that chance?  The world around us is full of mystery, beauty, and wonder.  It is up to us to take the time to marvel at the beauty of it all and bask in the warmth of its radiance.  You may be surprised at the emotions and sensations you can experience when you try this.  Even the most seemingly simple things in life are the result of complex reactions that would take me and most other people years to comprehend. 

Me?  I am a sensory person.  I am a wonderer and a wanderer.  I am a dreamer.  I get lost in the moment.  I stare in amazement.  As far back as I can remember, just before my third birthday to be exact, I have always felt this way.  As a small child, I was amazed by the world around me.  Then and now I can lose myself for hours just watching, feeling, pondering, and listening to the beauty of it all.  From the smallest of creatures to the brightest of stars, I enjoy it all.  I don’t know why or how.  It was not something that was fostered or encouraged by my parents or anyone else.  None of my brothers are like this.  It is something inside me I cannot explain.  Yet it is such a strong, almost palpable feeling.  I have never been around anyone like me, but I know there are others out there.  Okay, enough of that, lest I start to sound like I am a self-proclaimed prophet or savior of humanity.

By the time I was five years old, my parents had given up their efforts to thwart my “lofty ambitions.”  Climbing.  I’m sure if I were so inclined I could find a word that defines the opposite of a fear of heights.  Such a word would describe me.  I would climb to the top of trees and onto the garage roof late at night to lie on my back and watch the stars, observe the planets, and spot the occasional satellite purposefully navigation the sky.  Five years old and there I was.  On top of the garage reciting in my head the arguments for and against alien life in the cosmos beyond.  Not much has changed for me other than the abundance of knowledge I have gleaned from the scientific discoveries and theories since then.  I never doubted the existence of planets beyond our solar system.  We now know of thousands.  I never doubted the existence of water beyond Earth.  Now?  It is conclusive. 

Water also has always been another source of great fascination for me.  Whether it is rain, a stream, or an ocean, I am drawn to it all.  My mother never had to teach me to swim.  She said I just took to it on my own almost immediately, unlike my three older brothers and their water wings.  When swimming in a pool, I often preferred to let all the air out of my lungs and sink to the bottom and listen to the overwhelming silence below.  Naturally, I was thrilled to become a certified SCUBA diver many years later.  I can spend hours alone, adrift on anything that will float, in the middle of the ocean, soaking in the vastness of the world and the beauty of it.  I find it nearly impossible to resist the urge to dip my fingers into the water.  Slowly, carefully, I will lower my hand, fingers outstretched, toward the surface until I make the slightest of contact, testing the limits of the surface tension.  Then, one by one, I curl my fingers through the water.  Is it cold?  Is it hot?  Or is it just right?  Then, I slowly pull my hand out and rub my fingertips together as if trying to roll the liquid into a ball.  Most of the time I walk away with the same thought…I could live my life on the water.  Perhaps I am destined to someday be a scraggly, cranky old man with a face aged by the wind and sun, living alone with a dog on a sailboat tied to a pier, always ready to cast away and sail the high seas at a moment’s notice.

These are but a few examples.  Life is full of them.  The sounds that surround us as we move through the day and night.  The smells that waft through the air we breathe.  The things that are right in front of us we never notice…an eagle perched on a fence post, a rabbit waiting patiently to spring from the dewy grass and cross the road one last time as the sun rises on another day.  The sensations that lay at our fingertips often are ignored or overlooked.  I pause to feel the velvety petals of the roses my mom so lovingly raises in her garden.  I stop to feel the smoothness of the bark on a maple tree I planted in my parent’s front yard twenty five years ago.  Walking from the front to the back yard of my parents place, I think of how different the St. Augustine grass feels compared to the Bermuda grass I have in my own yard.  I could, and often have, gone on for hours about things that are there waiting to be admired. 

Take the following for example.  If you asked me what I did one night last week, I could give you two explanations.  First, I could, as most would, simply say “I went for a walk.”  Or, I could say:

“I found myself inexplicably drawn to the sidewalk for a midnight stroll under a clear sky with the stars and a glowing moon as my companions.  During my walk, I was one with my companions.  Slowly, everything else faded away and I began to search for words to describe the sensations I was experiencing.  The steady, slightly warm breeze blowing in my face.  The sound of crickets chirping out their rhythmic song in unison.  The smell of dry grass, severely parched by the unusually brutal temperatures and extreme drought this summer.  A dog barking in the distance, no doubt to ward off some phantom intruder. 

A few hundred feet ahead of me, I could see the outline of a teenage couple sitting on the curb, her head resting on his shoulder as they enjoyed a brief reprieve from the prying eyes of their parents.  Above me, the midnight sky was oddly pristine despite the abundance of red dust borne of the dry Oklahoma clay that has been ever-present the past few months.  Perhaps the unexpected rainfall a few days earlier had settled the atmosphere, briefly. 

But I was thankful for this night.  I carefully surveyed the sky, locating my celestial friends, occasionally catching myself repeating their names aloud.  As I drew closer to the amorous teenagers, I could hear the occasional word or two of their soft whispers.  “The runner.”  I heard the girl say, sounding confused.  Most likely she found it odd that I was out this late and walking rather than running as I usually do most evenings.  I moved to the other side of the street to give them their space.  Ah, young love.  Still innocent and hopeful, not yet tainted and jaded by the countless experiences they will encounter in the years ahead of them.” 

Then, I realized the front, right pocket of my cargo shorts was weighed down.  Oh yeah, my phone.  In an instant, I was snatched from my meditative state and reunited with fast-paced buzz of modern society and my new-found addiction to Twitter…must see what everyone else is doing.  As it turned out, they were going to see the latest Harry Potter movie.

I will leave you all with this…there are two ways to live.  You can go through the motions, every day moving closer to your last.  Or, you can open your mind and senses to the world around you begging for your attention.  The choice is yours.  Thanks for reading, this is my sensory perception.