The Good Eye Project has come to an end.

After today, I will no longer be updating this site. Instead, I will be posting from my new online home, robinbanderson.com.

In December, I had the chance to review 2011 and I realized that I am growing in ways that don’t fit this site anymore. I also discovered that while I don’t want to stop writing, I want to write less (in public) and photograph more.

I’m happy with the photographs I took in 2011. They’re not perfect, of course. I still have a lot to learn. But this has not deterred me. I have so many ideas I want to develop, skills I want to sharpen and cameras I want to click.

I hope you’ll join me as my life continues to unfold picture by picture. It would be an honor and a joy to have you along for the journey. Should we part ways here, know that I appreciate the time and attention you’ve contributed here. Several people have mentioned to me that visiting The Good Eye Project is a special treat for them and something that brings them peace and connection. I am so grateful, because, this is the kind of online presence I seek to cultivate. I aspire to continue cultivating this moving forward.

Warmly,
Robin

Yesterday, my Mom had a milestone birthday. I won’t tell you which milestone birthday, because, well, a lady never reveals her age (or her mother’s). But it was indeed a special one.

Happy Birthday Mom. We’ve come a long way, no?

As a Zen student, I’ve become so accustomed to talking about death, that when someone recently suggested I, “not talk like that,” I was a little surprised.

So. Let me just get something out of the way before I go any further.

We are all going to die.

Okay. Whew. Glad that’s out.

I mentioned this to my Zen teacher the other day and, of course, it prompted us to start talking about Japanese death poems. He quoted some of his favorites. One of them, if I remember correctly (which I may not be), goes a little something like this:

The sharp-edged sword, unsheathed,
Cuts through the void-
Within the raging fire
A cool breeze blows.

(taken from Japanese Death Poems)

I couldn’t possibly imagine having my head severed by a sword. And I certainly can’t imagine writing a poem about it. But I have to wonder, what will happen to me when I die? When will it happen and how? Maybe it won’t be by a sword (at least, I hope not), but someday, somehow, it will happen.

Until then, what to do?

Before I could give any more thought to the matter, I looked up to see my Zen teacher with his knees propped into the seat of an office chair, wheeling around the room smiling and laughing.

On Saturday, I stood on the edge of a lookout in the Wild Basin Preserve with nothing but a crisp breeze and the afternoon sun shining down on me. All I could hear was silence.

While sometimes I may run from it, silence nourishes me like nothing else can. Growing up in a small Texas town (and what some would consider the country), it used to be all I knew. Except for the occasional train that would pass through in the middle of the night, life was pretty quiet.

Each year I get older, I long to recreate this silence and it’s becoming more and more important to me. While I’m amazed at the numerous gadgets I can stick in my ears and fiddle with on a daily basis, I am also grateful for the moments I can get away from them. Meditation helps. Yoga does too. So does being in nature. No cars rushing by. No sirens. No loud music. No talking. No nothing.

What do you do to find silence?

If you’re curious, Julian Treasure has a fascinating talk on the influence of sound and how silence and protecting our ears is important to living a healthy life:

I asked her, do you need any help?

She responded by saying it was her first time at the Zen Center. She was waiting, but I wasn’t sure for what, so I pressed her a little further. Had she been to the Beginner’s Instruction? No, she hadn’t.

I was impressed. I attended the Beginner’s Instruction twice before I had the confidence to sit and meditate like a regular old Zennie. This young woman was diving right in.

I whispered to her some basic instructions. Walk in, find a seat and face the wall. Don’t close your eyes, but leave them almost halfway open. The bell will ring to start meditation and you’ll hear it again when it’s finished. We’ll have a short service and chant a little and that will be it.

She smiled and straightened up a little. I smiled back. I watched her walk in to the meditation hall, look around and then find a seat.

I was elated, but then as I sat down for meditation myself, I couldn’t help but think about all the things I didn’t tell her.

When you find a seat, bow towards it, then turn and bow again to the outside world. Only then should you sit.

Try to sit as still as possible. Don’t fidget.

If you get lost in your thoughts, just come back to your breath. Always come back to your breath. It will help you return to the moment.

But how could I possibly say all of this before she was even able to sit down? I consoled myself by affirming that these were all things she could learn – would learn, eventually, if she decided to come back.

In a way, I envied her. All fresh and new to the Zen Center. Everything a new impression. She wasn’t flooded with memories the moment she opened the front door. The smell of incense doesn’t remind her of anything yet. The bells just sound like bells and that springy meditation cushion still holds promise.

But her newness and awkwardness, which might have embarrassed her, was bright and beautiful to me and made me glad. As I finish sewing my rakusu, this is what I want to remember. That there is no right answer. There is no escape (from memories or anything else). There is only newness, awkwardness and hopefully a little compassion.

“Just to be you is enough, you know.” – Shunryu Suzuki Roshi

The temperature is dropping and I’ve worn myself thin again. I don’t mean to. I just don’t like going to sleep.

I’m listening to these guys right now. Named after a tiny town in Texas, Balmorhea (might want to lower the volume before clicking), has been the soundtrack to my writing (and my life) lately. I don’t always write with music in my ears. I typically write in silence. But sometimes the music loosens me up and gently coaxes the words out.

I often wonder, what do I possibly have to offer? What do I have to give? But then, is it really necessary to ask this question? Seriously, would I even think of asking this of my cat? A tree? A mountain?

Maybe just sitting down to write or picking up a camera – any camera – and doing the best I can to create something beautiful every day is enough. Is it enough? Am I enough? Are you enough?

I’m fascinated with found things. For example, signs. Typically, the signs I see are practical, direct and informational. Everything I’d want a sign to be. But sometimes, I’ll come across a sign with a sense of humor and I’m delighted.

Sometimes, it’s an ordinary sign with a little something extra added.

And sometimes, it’s simply a note someone left on the side of a wall.

What are some of your favorite signs? Noticed any peculiar ones lately?

My favorite tea is and always has been chai.

Back when I was living in DC I started a personal tradition. Whenever I was having a bad day, I would take a break and go get a chai.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to DC in the winter, but it is cold. And usually drizzly. Not fun.

So these trips out into the elements required dedication. But, when it comes to chai, I’m pretty dedicated.

But I’m not just interested in the taste. I’m interested in where chai takes me. It doesn’t “take me away” or anything silly like that. No. More like it allows me to stop the chatter in my brain for a while and notice the world around me.

Whenever I had a chai in my hands in DC, I noticed things, like…roasted chickens hanging in the window of a restaurant in Chinatown. The smell of car exhaust mixed with a man’s heavy cologne. The way the air felt when it was about to snow.

In Austin, I don’t get quite as much city-sensory input as in DC. But I now get the chance to share my chai breaks with friends and coworkers. And I notice things like…my friend’s wonderful silly duck walk, the massive Texas sky – even when overcast (!), the skittish little stray cats that live in the bushes outside our office building and the warm smell of BBQ wafting through the air (yeah, I may have given up red meat, but the smell of BBQ is still unbelievable to me).

And then I take a sip and actually drink my chai.

What’s your favorite tea or just your favorite way to take a break?

I’m considering seeing a psychic for my birthday this year. I recently read this article and this article from Sarah Wilson about her readings with a psychic and a witch (yes, a witch) and I found myself intrigued.

BUT, I’m not sure. Readings typically do not go well for me.

I once had a card reading by a friend of mine that shook me to my core. Every card he put down was in a perfect pattern of opposites – odd and even, black and red. It was eery. And it hit so close to home and was so painful to see, that I jumped up and ran out of the room to get some air.

Truth is, my world is filled with contradictions and seeming opposites. What could a psychic possibly tell me that I don’t already know? What purpose does it serve to predict the future? Or at least try to come close?

Maybe, I could use a little push in the right direction. Or, maybe it would be helpful for me to see life with more clarity. Or maybe, just maybe, it would help to have my intuitions confirmed.

Maybe.

What about you? Have you ever seen a psychic? If not, would you?

For Christmas, I inherited a Brownie Junior box camera that was owned by my great aunt. I’ve been told she took a lot of photos with it. A lot. I’ve never used a medium format camera, so I’m a little nervous. But the instructions and photos I’ve seen so far look promising. Not to mention it is cute as heck.

I can’t explain my fascination with old cameras. I simply love the way they feel, the sounds they make and most especially, the nostalgic look they give to my photographs.

I have a feeling this won’t be the last vintage camera I end up with this year. I have my eye on a Polaroid SX-70, as well as, a Yashica A (for some black and white photography).

It’s going to be an exciting year…

What about you? Have you ever used a vintage camera? If so, what kind? If not, have you thought about picking one up and trying it out?