The Eyes Have It

Traveling one summer in Istanbul, I had just left Hagia Sophia and was headed back to my hotel. I could feel someone's eyes on me. A blond American woman in Turkey quickly gets accustomed to the probing eyes of men. When I turned around, I met the gaze of a woman in a black burqa. Every part of her veiled, except her eyes. And she had the most beautiful ones I'd ever seen.  Huge. Almond shaped. Dark as a starless night. Time expanded. I stood completely still, trying to return her gaze, it's intensity consuming.

In Turkey, the very ground buzzed with the intensity of life. The land was a woman constantly giving birth, the divine feminine -  the power of creation itself. Turkey helped me understand, in the flesh, why our three main monolithic religions made God a man. They were terrified of the unbridled feminine power of creation - because where there is the power to create, there is also the power to destroy.

Just as quickly as I had been drawn into her gaze, it ended. The woman in blue black robes gracefully folded herself into a large sedan of the same color. I watched the back of her head as she disappeared into the midday traffic.  I have never experienced anything close to the intensity of her gaze -  before or since that moment on Kabasakal street. And at this point, I don't think I ever will.

This experience inspired the photo above. My photographer friend invited me to imagine being back on that sidewalk in Istanbul, returning that veiled gaze. It was my turn to see what it felt like to see, but not be fully seen. The power was electrifying.