Last night we meditated upon the empty silence that is the true condition of our universe so that this morning all sounds and sights would have no more significance than any other set of states of energy in motion.
We tested ourselves by closing one eye and then the other, seeking a sameness across our binocular view around us.
There, just out of the center of our visual focus, a half-elliptical blurriness appeared to the right side of our eye movement, like a semicircular kaleidoscope placed over our eyeballs or attached to the optic nerve.
At first, it was distracting, similar to the dark spot in one’s vision after looking at a bright light and then looking away.
Then it became disconcerting.
“Is this permanent?”
“Do we have brain cancer?”
“Did we drink something poisonous in our cup of tea?”
But we hadn’t tasted a drop of tea before this occurred.
When was it first noticed?
Maybe a small spot appeared while showering?
Was it before or after the microwave oven heated a mug of water for two minutes?
It was definitely growing in our peripheral vision, a fluttering of the landscape just to the right.
We could worry but it goes equally well with the pulsating high-pitched sound in the internal mental landscape area we think of as our ears and is clinically called tinnitus.
Is it tinnitus of the eyes?
Is this what our brain does after over a year and a half of sitting alone in a vehicle for hours a day with no active companionship except with oneself (occasional glances at one’s smartphone hardly the equivalent of true companionship)?
How does this portend the future of being alone with technology when one is freed from the drudgery of manual labour by the introduction of automated/robot technology in one’s workplace?
Do we start losing the ability to use our eyes and ears in the former normative sense of living/surviving on the land?
When our technology becomes part of us, what becomes of us?