Rock Creek Herb Shop sits on a dusty gravel lot out on Highway 75, just south of Sapulpa, and has for decades. The walls are lined with dried herbs, vitamins and minerals, mortar and pestles, and naturopathic supplements. Visits are free, but they’ll cost you an afternoon. There are no appointments, and there is always a line. The shop sees hundreds of healing hopefuls come through its doors each week, and an online Facebook group called “Fans of Rock Creek Herb & Vitamin Co.” boasts 2,700 fans swapping insights gleaned from Phyllis.
Phyllis Van Deusen is what's known as an iridologist. The woman who reads your eyes, I’ve heard her called. One poster in the Facebook group calls her “an angel of God.”
Iridology is best understood as the study of the iris, with the goal of connecting discernible patterns to underlying health concerns. Iridologists claim that these patterns can suggest internal ailments a person is currently facing or likely to be susceptible to, even if those issues haven’t yet presented physically. Not so dissimilar to the divination of a tarot reading, it’s a way of discerning past, present, and future, with a focus on the body.
The first recorded mention of iridology dates back to the 1600s in Philippus Meyeus’ Chromatic Medica, but the modern practice is only about a century old. In the 1950s, a chiropractor named Bernard Jensen began offering classes based on his own method, bringing it into view in the U.S.
To date, iridology’s efficacy hasn’t been supported by scientific evaluations, and critics in the medical field have warned against using iridology as a diagnostic. A study published in the Archives of Ophthalmology concluded that “Iridology has shown to be of little benefit to anyone. Patients and therapists should be discouraged from utilizing iridology since it has the potential to cause personal and financial harm.”
After an unbearably uncomfortable year, personal and financial harm is the last thing I’m seeking. Yet, here I am. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here, or how I will communicate to Phyllis what exactly has been bothering me. But the other patrons assure me that she will know—even without me telling her—what’s brought me in: that I’ve been sitting with chronic internal pain, emotional chaos, and plain old worry for months.
I’ve never “had my eyes done,” but as I settle into the waiting area of the Rock Creek shop, I feel excitement and trepidation realizing that today will be the day I do. I start to wonder if eyes are something to be maintained like toes or fingernails—a sort of pedicure for our insides, a little tune-up with the power to change the way we live and project ourselves in the world.