Seeing the Invisible
Seeing the Invisible
“The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature.” -Joseph Campbell
Invisible Workings
A completely immersive experience that is grounded in deep seeing and listening can be utterly transformative and life changing. Connecting with the environment around us is an essential component in this process. Through our senses we experience our world and interpret it. We look closely to see. We search our inner realm to understand what we feel. Somehow through this process we enhance our ability to notice that which we never saw before. Our inner wisdom can intensely feel the impact of subtle change. Then, we listen to receive what is being said. When the truth of our reality is revealed there is no turning back. This is where transformation begins.
I have experienced numerous transformative moments that have shaped me into the person I am today. One such moment unexpectedly launched me onto a new career path that I could have never imagined. Another phenomenon occurred in a split second when I shed a large load of emotional baggage that haunted me my whole life. It just disappeared. Once, a particular event left me utterly stunned and without warning the very next day I quit my executive job of 10-years.
An epiphany lead to me to suddenly uproot and move across the country. Other precipitous insights have taken more time to process. As a seasoned professional I spent years recovering from abusive colleagues that sealed the glass ceiling above me, but after walking through the hell fire of that experience I came to realize that I am the blue sky.
So, when we think about changing our circumstances or transforming an area of our life, what is the catalyst for making this change? How do we see and embrace moments that invite us to evolve? Why do so many of us resist and fear change? Why do we often ignore the signs and miss opportunities that shape our lives in meaningful ways? How do we see the invisible workings of transformation?
An Invitation to Evolve
One morning in November of 1997 I experienced something that changed me forever. I had traveled to Key Largo Florida for a well-planned scuba diving adventure. On the first day the boat pulled away from the dock and slowly maneuvered its way through the canal. As we entered the open water it quickened forward. Standing at the leading edge of the boat, I could see the bow of the vessel divide the undisturbed water. This was exhilarating. A soft cool mist met my skin as massive heaves of water were pushed aside. I kept my eyes open for signs of dolphin and jumping fish. The air rushed over my face and body, igniting a sense of feeling new.
The dive boat began to rock to-and-fro with the rhythmic pulse of the swells. As we moved swiftly across the surface I remembered just how much I loved being on the water. My last dive was almost one year ago to the day. Far too long to have been away. The vision of seafoam green stretched and distanced itself to the horizon, where it met the vast slate blue of the clouds that blanketed the sky. In this open space, calmness transcended through me to a state of peacefulness, a stillness that I had not felt in some time.
I thought of my dive gear in the back of the boat that was carefully secured next to the tanks and my underwater camera safely hidden under the bench. For the first dive of the day I was planning on using my macro lens, which was excellent for the magnification of vivid details within the width of my thumb. Small elaborate features of various textures submerged underwater are difficult to distinguish with unassisted vision. I find this visual allure fascinating. These seemingly insignificant surfaces found only on the ocean floor depict the multitude of textures and hues of life. My intent was to photograph the exquisiteness of this otherworldly life and share with my colleagues back home. I would do this in part by projecting my photography of these miraculous life forms on a 12-foot tall screen to reveal this authentic beauty.
As I looked down through the clear water I could see that visibility was excellent, shapes on the ocean floor were easily seen. All the conditions were perfect for diving. Then I saw something I had never seen before, which made me pause. Having grown up on beaches, and as an experienced scuba diver I was very comfortable with getting wet, diving deep, and swimming far. But this, what I saw, was highly unusual. Through the veiled barrier of dancing reflections at the surface of the water I could make out large white objects on the sandy bottom. Could this be garbage? These organic blobs were scattered about at various intervals on the ocean floor, some side-by-side while others were 30-40 feet apart. The moving waters made it hard to decipher exactly what I was seeing, but in spite of the optical camouflage obscuring the underwater world I found these shapes to be curiously odd.
Concerned by what I saw, I went to the back of the boat and asked my dive buddy what these white forms in the water were. Mike was a professional underwater photographer and lived on Key Largo. He explained that the coral was dying because of changes in the water temperature. This explanation took me back. It was the first time the concept of coral bleaching and global warming had entered my mind.
Arriving at the first dive site of the day I was eager to get into the water. I liked being the first diver to plunge into the water because the first one to jump in usually sees something that none of the other divers see. I held my mask and jumped. The coolness of the water saturated my body as air bubbles danced and tickled my skin. Quickly I looked around. I hoped to get a glimpse of a sea ray, a turtle, or a school of fish before they scurried away into the deep. A small school of barracuda repositioned themselves close to the bottom of the boat as I began my decent into the depts.
As I began my rapid decent of 42-feet I settled deeper into the unfamiliar feeling of peacefulness. I loved the sensation of a rapid drop as I sensed my weights drawing me downward. Reaching the sandy bottom, I found neutral buoyancy as I began swimming against the forces of the current. Looking back over my shoulder I could see Mike close behind as he adjusted his gear. Moving forward, I gazed into the blue and inspected the ethereal environment.
Then I saw it, the bleached coral. My gut lunged as I felt an instinctive prickling of pain moving up my spine to the nape of my neck. I advanced forward to take a closer look.
What I saw was heart wrenching. Monuments of dead coral were everywhere. Large silent colonies stood like colorless statues made of bone with intricately detailed architectural structures that life had abandoned. Some of these formations looked like huge piles of melted marshmallows that had hardened into drooping lifeless configurations. Pausing to observed it up close, I removed my glove and ever so gently touched one of the hardened skeletal structure with my hand. Emotional pain filled my gut that was sending messages to my brain that I couldn’t understand.
Gone were the mesmerizing colors with their infinite variety of value and tone. Gone were the coral polyps that hid themselves by day inside the coral. Gone were these tiny, soft-bodied organisms that revealed their true beauty only at night with stunning delicate tentacles that danced and waved in the surge while they fed. Gone were the elaborate textures that covered the coral like tantalizing layers of flesh. Gone was my feeling of peace.
I glanced at Mike as he passed by me. He paused for a moment as we looked at each other. Wordless and motionless we shared a vast sadness. Then Mike lowered his gaze to look at the coral. Then, shaking his head ‘no’ he began to swim ahead.
I felt as if I was being launched sideways in such a way that inside, I was being smashed to pieces. I tried to control this feeling of scattering. Intuitively I knew that if the pieces ever come back together, they would never go back the same way they were. Yet there I was, floating in the abys in a runaway free fall. I was literally falling apart.
My vision blurred as moisture filled my eyes. I sipped air from my regulator as I remembered to breathe. My mask filled with a layer fog that made it even harder to see. I took a deep breath and removed my mask. Cool water rushed over my closed eyes and warm forehead. Blowing air out of my nose I cleared my mask of water and repositioned it back on my face. With my underwater camera in hand I began shooting images of a new series of photographs. I was no longer photographing the life on the ocean floor. I had begun documenting its death.
I went about my work. At 40-feet beneath the ocean’s surface I felt utterly alone. A cavernous void of absolute loss hollowed me and I felt thin like a sheet of wet paper adrift in the ocean surge. I sensed myself sinking into grief while at the same time my heart ached and swelled to the point to which I wanted to rip it out. My interior world was being torn to pieces as I slowly swam onward navigating the coral graveyard.
After the dive, I surfaced and reappeared on the deck of the boat. I looked at the other divers as they conversed and laughed. No one seemed to be alarmed by the bleached coral. I walked back to the place that was designated for my gear and I removed the physical weight I was carrying with my camera, tank and buoyancy vest. I carefully tucked away my mask and fins. As I removed my weight-belt I cautiously gauged the heaviness inside me. Nothing about my physical appearance changed, yet everything in my interior world was altered.
Speechless, I tried to process what had happened. My deep affinity with Nature was telling me something profound, and all I could do was listen. But nothing made sense. I have always known within me a mysterious connection to the ocean and its coral. A link zealously associated with feelings of joy and peace. Now, I was grieving its loss.
Departure
In anticipation of my presentation to my colleagues I had meticulously arranged the slides of the bleached coral into a carousel that now sat quietly on the top of the slide projector awaiting the top of the hour. As a creative designer I was employed at one of the largest automotive manufacturers in the world. In this corner of the corporate bubble my associates and I often shared our inspirations. This was the third presentation I had given that focused on my underwater photography. However, these images told a very different story.
There was standing room only as a small crowd of people in the hall maneuvered themselves to find a position along the walls of the room. I collected my thoughts and wondered what I was going to say. This was new territory.
How was I to tell my coworkers about what I had really experienced? What can I say of this profound transformative shift that had taken place when I didn’t yet understand it myself?
In a business environment where real emotions are shunned, I found it difficult to discuss the significance of my honest encounter with bleached coral. So, I told no one. Passion in this corporate realm was largely limited to a lust for cars. Would anyone care to hear why these passions may be misguided? Would they be open to the idea that our throttle driven thirst for profit comes at a cost? Would anyone be brave enough to embrace the idea that the company we all worked for is one of the greatest contributors to global warming?
When the lights dimmed and a luminous beam from the projector stretched across the room and the beauty of the coral skeletons was revealed. Even in this lifeless state they were visually exquisite.
As I talked, I spoke of the formal visual elements of coral that linked these images to the design profession. I was conflicted between my love for Nature and my chosen profession that was doing irreputable damage to the environment. Here was a chance for me to say something new, to speak on Mother Nature’s behalf. But these words did not come to me. I was clearly in the dark. The vocabulary to describe what had happened was unfamiliar to me, as if from a different language. I didn’t know how to explain this new reality.
As I closed the door on the opportunity to share with my colleagues this new perspective, something opened inside. On that moment, my greatest transformation began, a trailhead of sorts through the darkness. I sensed the beginning of something indescribable as it appeared to me ever so quietly, like a germinating acorn in the ground spreading its first fragile roots though the blackness. I did not know it at that time, but this was the beginning of a philosophical journey that would lead me on a path of intellectual inquiry. This point of departure would lead to places I could never have imagined. Little did I know that my life was about change beyond all expectation.