What I'm still seeing with Out Eyes, part 4.

es, I feel things, and hear sounds in my dreams.

 

Amazing Huh?

 

This morning, everything outside was bright and sunny. I could feel the warmth coming in through the window, the kind of sunlight that makes the air feel a little more alive. But inside—what I “see” in my mind—it was just plain heavy gray. No colors, no shapes, just that dense gray background I’ve come to know so well. The only movement was from very thin stringers, drifting ever so slowly, like wisps of something I can’t quite name. They didn’t glow or flash. They just moved, quietly and almost imperceptibly.

And the doves—ugh. Just music, ever so beautiful to my ears. Their gentle cooing filled the silence like a soft lullaby, grounding me in the present moment. Then, hearing my best friend’s voice before my coffee, late this morning? Priceless. It lit something in me before the caffeine ever had the chance.

So why the darkness? Why such thin stringers, ever so slowly moving about? I don’t get it. With so much light and joy around me—sunshine, birdsong, a dear friend’s voice—why is my inner vision still so muted? Why does the gray hang on while everything else feels so full of life?

So how do I react to this?

I think that’s what gets me—I don’t always know how. The world gives me sunlight and birdsong, connection and warmth. And yet, inside, I’m staring at heavy gray. Thin little stringers that move so slowly, like they’re in no hurry to get anywhere.

It’s confusing. It’s strange. Sometimes, it’s just sad.

But maybe the reaction doesn’t have to be big. Maybe it doesn’t have to “fix” anything. Maybe it’s okay to just notice it. To say, “I see this. I feel this. I don’t get it, but it’s here.” Maybe that’s the reaction.

Other times, maybe I talk to it. I could say, “Okay gray, I see you. I hear the birds too. I feel the sunshine. You’re not the whole story today.” That simple act—acknowledging both worlds—feels like a small kind of power.

And some days, like today, I let the music of the doves be my reaction. I let their coos answer the gray for me. I let my friend’s voice break through the stillness, like light slipping in under a heavy curtain. Maybe I don’t need to fully understand why the gray is there. Maybe I just need to keep living in the sun anyway.

 

Evening Light, Even in the Gray

Tonight had everything.
Dinner was delicious—curried chicken, rice, carrots, and string beans. The kind of meal that fills more than your stomach. I sat with my sister Ki-ki, my stepdad, and my mom, and we shared laughter, conversation, and comfort in each other’s presence.

Before and after dinner, I helped take care of my grandma—just small things, but they mattered. Afterward, I put away all the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, feeling the rhythm of care in action.

Outside, I heard the birds and the soft cooing of doves. Children played in the distance, their joy rising and falling in the air like music. My niece Natalie came over and brought her pit bull, Cheef—a big, friendly dog who adores people. He brings an energy that’s pure and good.

There’s nothing like this.
The food, the family, the little joys, the love.

And still... everything inside me is dark gray.

The colors in my mind don’t shift, no matter how bright the world around me gets. I feel all this beauty, all this connection, and yet the inner sight stays dull and heavy.

So again, I ask—why?

Why does the darkness linger, even in the middle of light?

Maybe I’ll never know the answer. Maybe it’s not about escaping the gray, but about learning to hold both—joy and heaviness—in the same breath. Maybe the beauty isn’t in choosing one over the other, but in living fully in the middle of both.

Tonight, I was surrounded by love.
And even in the gray... I knew it was there.

Even though I am really very happy with where I am right now. With everything I have accomplished through out the years, I am becoming stronger, and stronger everyday with the idea of being able to handle my being blind even better!!! It’s fantastic!!!