I thought I had an eye infection, as my eyes had been red and their vision had been blurry for about a week. Decided to look into a mirror (anything to avoid a doctor’s appointment, or in this case advance one already scheduled for the last week of Sept).
As I rolled the iris down and lifted up the eyelid of my right eye to make sure that the increased capillaries I was seeing closer to the boundaries of the iris didn’t have a scary looking beginning somewhere there, inside on the other side of the little peephole that holds or beholds my world. There wasn’t. Even though there were quite a few possibilities like floating objects etc.
Though what did meet my left eye was the right eyeball, doing its ball thing and rounding behind the eyelid. I took a step back. Seemingly bewildered.
How many times have I seen eyeballs being used for various sorts of, usually hideous, effects on TV. Probably an astounding number of times. How many times did I think that my eyeballs too, will look just like anyone else’s once taken out of the socket by a psychopath or a nuclear bomb. Never, comes close.
Its similar to how many times anyone thinks about dying. The exalted status of near death experiences because they are believed to be a window to the real unknown and perhaps unknowable.
Perhaps, even I, for whom dying related morbid thoughts are as commonplace as shopping fantasies (that I never really intend to go through) am not really going to be prepared.
I wondered then, will I be as surprised by impending death as I was with the normal shape of my eyeballs, just because I thought my eyes were something more than organs. To me. People (all? most?) think their lives are more than their bodies, even the most depressed (perhaps them the most) the jailed or tortured people. Even if they wish for death, I wonder if anyone is ever prepared to accept that as a fact that is going to happen to them. Just like aging. But while aging is gradual, is the suddenness of the last breath comprehensible to us?in its finality.
Could it be like the last time you ever see someone, someone you cared about, but just didn’t know you will never meet again. Could it be, that even in the end, we don’t really know it is. We think, perhaps, that this can’t be it. I am more than my body.
The last delusion we live. Merciful.