Recently, my wife sent me a picture from up the road: a hill overlooking the houses, mountains, and cityscape of Tijuana from our palm tree lined San Diego street. It was beautiful, and though I agreed with her sentiment, I didn’t think much too much more about it. But this morning, as I walked my dog, something shifted. Suddenly, everything around me felt alive- the plants, the flowers, the landscape, the homes, and the familiar streets seemed more alive. I remembered how vibrant this place felt when I first arrived, like I was wandering through a plant zoo, each leaf and tree a masterpiece. And I understood what my wife was seeing and why she sent me the photo.
It’s so easy to become numb to the world around us. We get conditioned to the beauty we live in, losing sight of the everyday miracles – the plants, our pets, our cities, and most of all, the people we love. The most important relationships become part of the background, no longer fresh, vivid, or deeply appreciated.
This shift in perspective reminded me of a friend, Matt, who used to work as a barista in Boulder, just below my office. He told me he aspired to be a National Geographic photographer. At the time, I thought it was a nice dream, but soon Matt had turned his dream it into reality, landing a six-book deal and dedicating himself to photographing the world from small boats, capturing thousands of images daily. He wanted others to see what he saw. Despite his success, he once asked me, “How do I stay open, seeing everything as if for the first time?”
I told him to read Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, by Shunryu Suzuki Roshi. The book’s premise is simple, though the execution or practice is a life’s work: we have to see the world not through the lens of what we think we know, but with fresh eyes, like everything is new, precious, sacred, and vivid.
Walking this morning, I thought about Bodhidharma, the 6th-century Zen master, who, according to legend, ripped off his eyelids to never stop seeing things as they truly are. He had fallen asleep 7 years into his 9 year meditation and refused to fall asleep again. While it’s a metaphor, the lesson is powerful: how do we rip off the metaphorical eyelids that cause us to fall asleep to life’s wonders?
There’s a Rumi poem that echoes this sentiment: “Don’t go back to sleep.” It’s a reminder to stay awake, aware, and grateful—to rip off the eyelids that shield us from the beauty and depth of each moment.
Life is happening, and it’s more magnificent than we often let ourselves see. So today, rip off your eyelids. Wake up, and don’t go back to sleep.
Don’t Go Back to Sleep
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the
doorsill where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
