Where's a Wideness?

Can you love a panoramic view and still meditate? 

Meditators (do they call themselves that?) focus on the little things, discover meaning in details, and evidently, distill that perspective to carry around in their bottles and sip anytime they’re thirsty during the day.  It's restorative to meditate.  

On the other hand, it’s like me to carry a speck of lint on my shoulder undisturbed all day long.  At least it’s not a chip.  (My folks gave me a chisel when I was a child and I was told to work on my chips; I’ve been doing that dutifully ever since.  At some point later, to my surprise, I discovered that not all parents start their children off in life with tools like that.  "Work on yourself, but don’t become what you’re not."  "Shape up; don't become shapeless.")

Sometime along the way, when I wasn’t looking so closely at myself, I made friends with a few fine-tuners who have an ear for clarity, and some eagle-eyed, who can zoom in and grasp their target with precision, or the connoisseurs who sniff around the rim and taste delicately in order to discover that “Ahh!” moment. 

Of course, like every human pursuit, these things can be done badly.  The knit pickers, the know-what-I-likers, the “ah-ha” momenters who plant their personal flags on new discoveries, despite that thousands of people have been there before them. 

I wonder if someone stepped quietly onto Plymouth Rock, glanced downward momentarily for sure-footing’s sake, before lifting her eyes to the treetops where her longing was perched.  So very, so ever green.   Some ancestor of mine. 

What’s over that hill?  The wagon train scout with the fringed leather jacket and the painted pony will know first.  However, he does not come racing in, heart pumping, fists gripping and back arching to pull back the bridle, only to announce soil contents, to announce the length of needles, to announce grains of sand.  No, he will exclaim that the place shines like gold, is vast and full and simply must be seen to be believed!  And the rest will come along and soak it in, sift it out, parse it up.  As well they should. 

I know, I know:  Be thyself.  But I never suspected, until recently, that the near-sightedness of aged eyes would impair some dispositions more greatly than others?  Figuratively.  By that I mean, those who have made a life by looking closely can still look closely after much time passes.  Those who need to climb mountains for the view from the top of things are hindered by details, like the sound of our joints snapping and that stride-limiting pain in one knee.    

So, is there a tool for those who continually seek a panoramic view of life, even this side of heaven?  Did I misplace it?