It’s interesting, how the brain works. We have sensors all over us, collecting information. Every single tiny peach fuzzy hair is transmitting information, all the time. Our eyes are taking in a panorama, again as a constant feed. The amount of information being processed is beyond dizzying, to comprehend. Sometimes, if I go deep into meditative thought, I can actively focus on a particular feel, like the gentle whisper of breeze on the fine peach fuzzy hairs on my face. It feels the way an ocean floor scene looks, with the kelp swaying in the currents of the water. It’s a beautiful thing. Most of the time my brain filters the bulk of inputs from my active awareness. Otherwise, it would probably feel like chaos, with extreme information overload. It would probably be overwhelming.
I am noticing changes to my awareness of visual sensory inputs. I can sit for long periods of time, gazing, processing thoughts. It’s sort of trance-like. Eyes open, deep in thought. I am aware of my periphery — all around me are collections of colors and shapes and lights. My thoughts run deep and there are things I want to remember, to capture, as I breathe in, breathe out, and stare into the space around me. I consider writing them down. I want to write them down, but the thought of looking at a screen fills me with dread. Something about the false light of the screen. I can hardly bear the thought of it, let alone the sight of it. So I avoid it, and hope that I will retain the important connections I’ve sorted out.
I wonder if the emotional impact of the way I process visual information is in part related to the physical changes in vision as I age. I am very frustrated with the loss of focus in my near field vision, and it seems that I am becoming more frustrated as time goes on, rather than simply adjusting to life with bifocals.
First world problems, for heaven’s sake. Nevertheless, I am finding myself easily overwhelmed, at this stage in life. It seems that perhaps my natural automatic behind the scene sensory processing filters are wearing out, just like my eyes, so my brain is being inundated with more peripheral awareness than it’s accustomed to.
I’m operating like a machine that is not well oiled. The gears are sticking, and everything takes more effort. It feels like the traffic on my commute. My physical, mental, and emotional processes feel like too many cars at too many speeds, weaving in and out of lanes, getting jammed, having collisions. I can hardly bear to drive.
