admit it? Yes. Was it tense and scary? Yes. Did it take courage I did not want to generate? Yes. So, I do have to practice what I preach as painful as it is sometimes. But I would rather see all the dimensions of the picture than hide in the space of the mundane and repetitious. So I enjoy a Magic Eye moment and breathe in the satisfaction of facing the ugliness inside, trusting that it is all our dimensions that make us and without them we are robots--patterns of predictable behavior. No surprises and no richness. I hear the words of Johnny Nash in my ears: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind...Sometimes we go through life missing very important information. It is as though we see things, but in only two dimensions. The good stuff happens when we capture more as in The Magic Eye artwork that from the surface seems to be a series of repetitive patterns, but when we softly focus and look through it, we discover a three dimensional picture that surprises and intrigues us. It seems that the same happens in relationships. We talk and listen from only two dimensions, but when we hear from the third dimension suddenly magic awareness occurs to carry us to deeper and more meaningful connectedness.

Just last night we were having an argument about making a phone call in the middle of something important. I became angry and blurted accusations and as I heard myself, suddenly moved closer to the real source of upset. By then we were both defensive and I withdrew into my world of awareness afraid to share what was really happening for fear of appearing even crazier than I thought I was. It took all night to sort things out, but in the end I had to face that third dimension that we all have--the place of vulnerability and fear, shame and doubt, isolation and uselessness. By the next morning, I could talk a little about it, but still felt unsafe as we tiptoed and danced around much of it. Not having much time for lengthy listening, the two-step was about all we could accomplish and then touch base by phone regularly just to say, "I love you."

Having had more time to sort through my thoughts and feelings, I realize that the anger and accusations were a cover--a repetitive pattern--to hide the deeper meaning of the upset. It is much scarier to say how small and insignificant I felt at that moment of abandonment when the phone call was made; how disconnected and unimportant and jealous I was that the phone call was more important than I was at that moment. Not to mention how many other times in my life I had to face aloneness, and why this person that had to be called at that moment could not face her own aloneness too. I had to survive without much support more times than I want to admit. The anger was strong. What carried me through the muck and mire of it all was a fact that I share with people several times a week: when our negative emotions are very strong, we need to look inside for our own truth--the anger may not be what it appears to be on the surface. Indeed, it was not. UGH. I hate having to practice what I preach, but there I was looking at my own stuff, having to confess, and afraid to confess at the same time. It is much easier to look mad or better yet self sufficient than it is to look honestly scared.

There I was and here I am to write about my own weakness. Did I hate having to admit it? Yes. Was it tense and scary? Yes. Did it take courage I did not want to generate? Yes. So, I do have to practice what I preach as painful as it is sometimes. But I would rather see all the dimensions of the picture than hide in the space of the mundane and repetitious. So I enjoy a Magic Eye moment and breathe in the satisfaction of facing the ugliness inside, trusting that it is all our dimensions that make us and without them we are robots--patterns of predictable behavior. No surprises and no richness. I hear the words of Johnny Nash in my ears: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind...a

middle of something important. I became angry and blurted accusations and as I heard myself, suddenly moved closer to the real source of upset. By then we were both defensive and I withdrew into my world of awareness afraid to share what was really happening for fear of appearing even crazier than I thought I was. It took all night to sort things out, but in the end I had to face that third dimension that we all have--the place of vulnerability and fear, shame and doubt, isolation and uselessness. By the next morning, I could talk a little about it, but still felt unsafe as we tiptoed and danced around much of it. Not having much time for lengthy listening, the two-step was about all we could accomplish and then touch base by phone regularly just to say, "I love you."

Having had more time to sort through my thoughts and feelings, I realize that the anger and accusations were a cover--a repetitive pattern--to hide the deeper meaning of the upset. It is much scarier to say how small and insignificant I felt at that moment of abandonment when the phone call was made; how disconnected and unimportant and jealous I was that the phone call was more important than I was at that moment. Not to mention how many other times in my life I had to face aloneness, and why this person that had to be called at that moment could not face her own aloneness too. I had to survive without much support more times than I want to admit. The anger was strong. What carried me through the muck and mire of it all was a fact that I share with people several times a week: when our negative emotions are very strong, we need to look inside for our own truth--the anger may not be what it appears to be on the surface. Indeed, it was not. UGH. I hate having to practice what I preach, but there I was looking at my own stuff, having to confess, and afraid to confess at the same time. It is much easier to look mad or better yet self sufficient than it is to look honestly scared.

There I was and here I am to write about my own weakness. Did I hate having to admit it? Yes. Was it tense and scary? Yes. Did it take courage I did not want to generate? Yes. So, I do have to practice what I preach as painful as it is sometimes. But I would rather see all the dimensions of the picture than hide in the space of the mundane and repetitious. So I enjoy a Magic Eye moment and breathe in the satisfaction of facing the ugliness inside, trusting that it is all our dimensions that make us and without them we are robots--patterns of predictable behavior. No surprises and no richness. I hear the words of Johnny Nash in my ears: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind...

all we could accomplish and then touch base by phone regularly just to say, "I love you."

Having had more time to sort through my thoughts and feelings, I realize that the anger and accusations were a cover--a repetitive pattern--to hide the deeper meaning of the upset. It is much scarier to say how small and insignificant I felt at that moment of abandonment when the phone call was made; how disconnected and unimportant and jealous I was that the phone call was more important than I was at that moment. Not to mention how many other times in my life I had to face aloneness, and why this person that had to be called at that moment could not face her own aloneness too. I had to survive without much support more times than I want to admit. The anger was strong. What carried me through the muck and mire of it all was a fact that I share with people several times a week: when our negative emotions are very strong, we need to look inside for our own truth--the anger may not be what it appears to be on the surface. Indeed, it was not. UGH. I hate having to practice what I preach, but there I was looking at my own stuff, having to confess, and afraid to confess at the same time. It is much easier to look mad or better yet self sufficient than it is to look honestly scared.

There I was and here I am to write about my own weakness. Did I hate having to admit it? Yes. Was it tense and scary? Yes. Did it take courage I did not want to generate? Yes. So, I do have to practice what I preach as painful as it is sometimes. But I would rather see all the dimensions of the picture than hide in the space of the mundane and repetitious. So I enjoy a Magic Eye moment and breathe in the satisfaction of facing the ugliness inside, trusting that it is all our dimensions that make us and without them we are robots--patterns of predictable behavior. No surprises and no richness. I hear the words of Johnny Nash in my ears: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind...

to survive without much support more times than I want to admit. The anger was strong. What carried me through the muck and mire of it all was a fact that I share with people several times a week: when our negative emotions are very strong, we need to look inside for our own truth--the anger may not be what it appears to be on the surface. Indeed, it was not. UGH. I hate having to practice what I preach, but there I was looking at my own stuff, having to confess, and afraid to confess at the same time. It is much easier to look mad or better yet self sufficient than it is to look honestly scared.

There I was and here I am to write about my own weakness. Did I hate having to admit it? Yes. Was it tense and scary? Yes. Did it take courage I did not want to generate? Yes. So, I do have to practice what I preach as painful as it is sometimes. But I would rather see all the dimensions of the picture than hide in the space of the mundane and repetitious. So I enjoy a Magic Eye moment and breathe in the satisfaction of facing the ugliness inside, trusting that it is all our dimensions that make us and without them we are robots--patterns of predictable behavior. No surprises and no richness. I hear the words of Johnny Nash in my ears: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind...

admit it? Yes. Was it tense and scary? Yes. Did it take courage I did not want to generate? Yes. So, I do have to practice what I preach as painful as it is sometimes. But I would rather see all the dimensions of the picture than hide in the space of the mundane and repetitious. So I enjoy a Magic Eye moment and breathe in the satisfaction of facing the ugliness inside, trusting that it is all our dimensions that make us and without them we are robots--patterns of predictable behavior. No surprises and no richness. I hear the words of Johnny Nash in my ears: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind...all of the bad feelings have disappeared...Here is the rainbow I've been praying for." For magic eyes, ears that hear, and rainbows, I am forever grateful.