IN-VISION

IN-VISION 

A question was asked of me: “How can you write like this?” My reply is this: “It is in-vision (inner vision) of my spiritual soul, that writes with this gift. It is with great love and affection that these words fall onto paper, reaching inward, grasping the compassionate components nurtured within. It is this gift of message I receive, that needs to be distributed. For if I were to keep it for myself only, then I alone, would benefit from it. But, if I open someone’s heart for their betterment, with these writings of spiritual insights, then I have executed the mission we are all called to do. But the sensitivity and passion of which I write, with depth of in-vision, does not make me a prophet nor saint. In retrospect, it does not make an author, like Stephen King, a monster, because he writes stories of horror. All written material is but a dictionary: words rearranged to create meaning, like notes to a song. It is only which song we choose to dwell in, which is the difference.” 

Compassion: What is it? Where is it? Who has it? Where can you find it? Questions of the heart and soul, unfolding in our life’s journey. Our life is like a book, turning a new page, each day. Each chapter, a new plateau, from the front cover of our birth, to the back cover of our death, pages of our soul, reel, with the precision of a clock, consuming each minute, building our spiritual destiny. The words of each page are but images of those instilled into our daily life. New characters and events create spiral roads with clusters of uncharted directions. This maze of changeable avenues are opened to us, by parents, teachers, friends, mentors, nature and prayer, as we build an inner dwelling of sentiments, of love, of fear, desires and talents. 

Our baptism is the spark of compassion, implanted into our soul. It is this dormant spirituality which when nourished, is the growth of compassion’s fragrance. It is a melting of incoming impulses passing through the heart, sifting away, anger, jealously, pride, selfishness, greed and hostility. It is a molding of calmness, serene peacefulness, that flourishes into our inner reservoir condensing into compassion. This inner beauty, is a structure, like the brightness from a lamppost, illuminating our insight to view things in a different light. This in-vision becomes an awareness and sensitivity, a depth to feel and see inside a single teardrop, and to endure the flow from one's heart. It is reaching, for the unreachable. It unlocks inner tears, falling, into a pool of compassion. This is love, in its purest form. 

I was about 12 years old on summer vacation from grade school staying at my grandparents farm. Each year my grandfather grew three acres of broadleaf tobacco. In the month of August, family members would gather to help harvest the crop. I was a helper in the field handing tobacco plants to be speared onto slats. They are then taken by wagons pulled by horses to a barn, to be hung inside to dry for further processing. My grandfather worked during the week on a huge tobacco plantation nearby, enabling him to borrow the plantation's horses to pull his wagons. I remember so well, this one horse named Champ. He was a lot smaller than the others, but worked just as hard. Pulling a wagon with a full load of tobacco up an incline to the barn, Champ's front legs buckled under the heavy load, and fell, his knees hitting the ground. He stumbled to regain his mobility; as I watched him, his eyes met mine. My heart reached out to him, in this difficulty of labor. The worker driving the wagon, stopped and got off to help Champ get up. Compassion melted me inside, as this horse fell into my heart. Champ struggled, and managed to get up and continued to pull the wagon to the barn. For all these years, I have carried these moments in my soul; for this is when compassion found me, and made a home inside of me. 

The eyes of this horse, falling, reaching out in anguish, with a burden too heavy to carry, these were the eyes of Christ: Jesus falling down, reaching out in anguish with a passion of love, carrying the weight of the cross of salvation for us into the eternal “barn” of heaven. These eyes have burned a permanent image of compassion, into my soul. For I have seen these eyes of anguish, again and again, in many of those upon my path; each day, a new page: a new pair of eyes, reaching in desperation, seeking relief, for someone to help them, and not pass them by. This inner torment of suffering and hardship that people carry wrapped inside, twisting and turning in a spiral, unable to find a way out. These suffering people are all around us. We do not see their pain. We do not see into their hearts. We do not look into their eyes. We do not, see them. They are like transparent bodies passing by: we see right through them, seeing nothing, giving nothing. Our hearts need to be manifested and coated with an awareness of compassion taking up the fight of the fallen: those too weak and weary, beaten down by financial trouble, sickness and disease; those homeless and hungry; those without a friend or family; those unloved and forgotten. In-vision should tell you, if you are not included in any of these, you are yet, to have your turn. Your situation could change at any moment. Who would help you? Would you now become transparent, lost in an unseen pit of misery? Will the uncompassionate pass you by? 

We are all called to mission, to help those less fortunate, but cannot envision where our feet will take us. For you see only with your eyes, and not with your heart. If you look into the eyes of another, you can see into their heart, their hardness and anger, their sadness and pain, their sorrow, their un-fallen tears. It is the spiritual in-vision of the inner dwelling, that looks, and sees; and sees, the eyes of Christ. 

Robert J. Varrick

rjvarrick@gmail.com