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    What's Beautiful

           Are you aware when another person is checking you out? When the eyes of another are fixed firmly on good old you, do you engage in the experience? And if so, then how?
           This phenomenon can be quite different for a man than it is for a woman. For the sake of this writing, I’m referring to the cases when, for both sexes, the experience doesn’t feel invasive or creepy or lecherous. I’m not talking about a potential stalker scenario. I’m talking about when you like the look of someone, and decide to look at them a little longer, a little harder, and a little more thoroughly. The whole experience may take only a few seconds.
           We are visual creatures, us whacky humans. By design, we get a vast majority of our information visually. I’m not one to buck that inherent design scheme. That doesn’t mean I neglect the other senses, but it does mean that I actively cultivate my sense of visual beauty. I am very aware of what visually rocks my world, sets my heart thumping, stirs my insides, lights my fire.
           If we are designed to receive so much input in the visual realm, it serves us to nurture and develop our own personal visual aesthetic of beauty. Because when we do, we cultivate our sense of awe, we feed that “Wow!” factor; the one that often gets drummed out of us as we get older. By fully embracing our own sense of beauty, we strengthen the connection between our eyes and our heart. When we cultivate this sense of awareness, this inherently powerful neurological relationship, we increase our chances of being awed.
           When is the last time the sight of the autumn foliage took your breath away? When is the last time you looked at your lover with so much appreciation and wonder and passion and fire that you felt overwhelmed? When is the last time you looked at anything in this world and were so moved that you wanted to cry? That is what I’m talking about. And that is a flame that gets squelched by the passage of time and by the constant bombardment of the relatively meaningless visual input we get from our modern society. But it’s easy to rekindle that fire. You just have to commit to it. And you have to open yourself up to being wowed again. You have to let down your guard and open up your heart. And your eyes.
           What does this have to do with being checked out by another? Because the energy is the same. The vibration of the appreciation of beauty is what I’m connecting to. Whether it’s the Grand Canyon or the girl in the sun dress walking through the park, I look at them both as an opportunity to be awed, inspired, moved, wowed. I’m not comparing the two, but I am looking at each of them as an opportunity to be touched. I’m allowing myself to feel something just by looking. I’m developing that connection between my eyes and my heart. I’m cultivating my sense of beauty, my own sense of beauty, in all it’s endless forms.
           I’ve noticed that when women look me over, and I’m referring to the cases when they have a view of my entire form, not just my face, it rarely starts with my eyes. Maybe because a woman making eye contact with a man has more potentially dangerous consequences than the other way around. It’s safer not to look a man in the eyes, at least not initially. Women tend to go right for the middle, meaning the midsection. Maybe it’s a primal thing, wired into our DNA, because a man who keeps himself trim around the waist is usually in better condition than a man who doesn’t, and that means he’s well suited for procreation and other mating duties. It could also be that, because I do keep myself fit, the eyes get drawn there naturally because of the visual aesthetics of a tapered body. Maybe some of it is that she's subliminally checking out my junk. Maybe all of the above. Anyway, I’ve noticed it usually starts in the middle. Then her eyes move up.
           Within a second or two, her eyes may or may not meet mine. And if they do, I’m looking right at her, because I’m watching her eyes to see what they’re doing. I’m usually smiling at her by this point. Sometimes there’s a smile back. Sometimes there’s that coy look of semi-embarrassment, you know, the kind that says, sheepishly but adorably, “I’m bagged”. Sometimes they never make it to my eyes, because they can feel my eyes on them, and they would rather not acknowledge their actions.
           Doesn’t matter. It’s all good. I saw you honey, and I’m flattered, whether you liked what you saw or not.

    ©2015 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

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