EYES WIDE SHUT – Seeing the Backs of My Eyelids

Our bodies are like microcosms of the earth; on us and in us are natural wonders every bit as incredible as trees, tides or tigers. They appeal to every one of the senses. And they're all there for the asking. In fact, some are so easy to find you can see them with your eyes closed.

PHANTOM LIGHT SHOW
Seeing with your eyes closed? Even in total darkness? If you've never done so, try this: when you go to bed tonight—after you’ve turned off the light and closed your eyes—look carefully at whatever it is your optic nerves are sending to your brain, and describe what you see. It’s not a trick question.

      

It's a field of vibrating points of color—like 
the "snow" one sees on a TV screen that's not 
receiving a program.

I'm not sure this is universal, but for me there’s definitely something there. It's usually a field of vibrating points of color—like the "snow" one sees on a TV screen that's not receiving a program. At other times it appears as a subtle, blotchy glow, ebbing and flowing like the hazy curtains of northern lights, ranging in color from shades of blue or green to reds, yellows and even tans.

So how does the eye—or the brain—perceive color, form and texture in total darkness? The scant research I’ve done points to something called phosphenes, luminous impressions caused by electrical, chemical or pressure stimulation of the retina. I guess I’m glad my phosphene images are as agreeably abstract as they are, because some people report seeing very specific, often eerie, images, including recognizable faces!

FLOAT ME ALONE
I've written here about floaters, those stringy little dark spots sliding oilily around on our fields of vision—most of us get them at some point in our lives. They're the shadows cast on the retina by tiny clumps of cells or of the gel inside the vitreous, the clear jelly-like substance that fills the eye.

      

They're about the only sight for which the only way to get rid of them is to open your eyes!

What fascinates me about floaters is that they’re visible all the time, whether your eyes are open or shut. They're most prominent when you close your eyes and face a bright light—like the sun. When you open them, though, your vista gets so filled with light and images that you don’t notice the floaters. So, ironically, floaters are about the only sight for which the only way to get rid of them is to open your eyes! 

OTHER COOL STUFF THAT ISN'T REALLY THERE
I can't ponder such conspiracies of brain and eye without thinking of optical illusions, those clever images clever people devise to fool the eye. Some make it look like something's moving which really isn't. Others seem to create impossible spacial relationships (think M.C. Escher). The effects are achieved through shapes, patterns or colors that confuse the eye.

Just the other day I came across this one involving eyes both open and closed. Stare at the red dot on the woman's nose for 30 seconds, then turn away, look at a plain surface and blink your eyes rapidly. Keep blinking; after a few seconds, the image of the woman will appear against the blank field, but with a surprising difference.

 

Do you see things you shouldn't really be able to see? Does that creep you out, or does it remind you, as it does me, just what wonders the human body and mind are? 

If you've experienced seeing things with eyes wide shut, how do you know you're actually seeing something and not just imagining it? Is there really any difference?

I and my small-but-appreciative following would love to hear 

from you!

I SPOT EYE SPOTS – The Small Wonder of Floaters

Most people assume Nature exists somewhere between arm's length and the horizon. Isn't that where we're accustomed to pointing our curiosity, to finding beauty and wonder?

But that assumption's not necessarily true; I have to keep reminding myself that Nature’s never any farther away than my own skin. For there, on me and in me, resides a whole other world of small wonders, just waiting to be discovered.

One of these little, inner wonders in particular has always fascinated me. Not for
its size or speed or any elegant design, but because to find it you have to close
your eyes.

It fascinates me, not for its size or speed or any elegant design, but because to find it you have to close your eyes.

OUT, DAMNED SPOT!
Just the other day I was out sitting on the deck, enjoying the very early spring that's sprung here in Minnesota. I was facing right into the sun, and even though my eyes were shut I was struck by how much there was to see.

My field of vision was flooded in bright, fiery red-orange, the result of that powerful light penetrating my translucent, blood-laced eyelids. Every so often a cloud would drift across the sun, muting the glow to a sumptuous deep burgundy.

     

Against this dramatic backdrop, one of the human body’s most arcane little quirks stood out like bugs on a TV screen: floaters. Floaters are actually shadows cast on the retina (the eye’s light receptor) by tiny clumps of cells or of the gel inside the vitreous, the clear jelly-like substance that fills the eye.

Nature’s never any farther away than our own skin.

Floaters look like tiny organic shapes dangled here and there in front of your eyes (if your eyes were open, that is). Mine look like little bits of thread or lint. They’re there all the time, whether your eyes are open or shut. When they're open, though, your vista's usually so filled with a busy pattern of other stuff that you don’t notice them.

     

FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY
Once I notice my floaters, a little game ensues. I pick out the biggest, most complex one and try to look right at it. Trouble is, it’s located a few degrees off of center, just to the left of where I’m looking.

Try as I might to look right at it, the moment my eye moves so does the floater, staying always slightly peripheral. Like a young Mohammed Ali, it glides back and forth at will, just beyond the reach of its hapless opponent's best jab.

This is made all the more maddening by the slight lag time between when I move my gaze and when the shape follows! I imagine it being on an elastic leash. When I tug, at first it doesn’t move; it only stretches the leash. Then, a fraction of a second later, the energy transfers to the object, which then slides greasily—alas, not to where I want it, but again just to the left.

How ironic that the only way you can stop looking at something is by opening your eyes!

I always tire of this losing game after a few minutes. I open my eyes and try ignoring the floaters. This is easier said than done. What would happen, I imagine, if I couldn't stop seeing them? I'm thinking this could drive a person nuts! Fortunately, it never takes me long to tune them out.

Still, how ironic—some might say demonic—that the only way you can stop looking at something is by opening your eyes!

     

HERE'S LOOKIN' AT YOU
Do you have floaters? Let the rest of us know what that's like for you. Do you rue the day you first noticed them, or have you found ways to make peace with them—perhaps even celebrate them? 

We'd love to hear from you!