![]() Now, I can understand some of the nostalgia people experience, I can see a reason for their attachment to the known and tested, I get how they build relationships much easier, and I can forgive them for thinking less. And having an image of a loved one when you think about them might have you call them or miss them. The sweet memory of tasting apple cider in the Burgundy would have you wanting to go back. I can also see that positive memories can keep somebody attached to things far more. So I come to the conclusion that either most people that have an inner eye must be far more robust or think far less than me just to survive. Sometimes, I went into total block, or experienced what it would be like for sentient computers to have a stack overflow. Suddenly, I experienced my private light shows without external stimuli, erratic and beautiful. This is what it must be like for others, just with so many more memory pieces and triggers available.īut then, I recall the time I added smell and taste back to the picture, and the memory and sensory overflow that caused. I am aware of about 100 parallel dialogs at any time. I am imagining this like that because inside me, without having images or memories of smell and taste, thoughts spinn off other thoughts in an endless stream of parallel conversations, and it’s great. Again, this brings forth memories in form of pain, emotions, smells, tastes, and a flood of other images, pleasant and unpleasant. Our Pastor had tried to become a farmer in British Columbia, and though he failed, the permanent resident visa he got for this helped him a year later to settle in Canada, get to know a church, and help build the network that I was part of for seventeen years. Now, all these memories triggered by the mentioning of an apple, and as I write the word again, it all restarts, bringing up an image of an orchard in Canada. ![]() I am glad that Switzerland is not bigger, or we would have had to recuperate in the barracks. It’s an unscheduled special train for the armed forces that takes us down into town to catch a normal train into our home cities. I can smell the despair, pain, and sweat in the train. Just seeing them triggers the hurt and pain of way back when it happened, and through the distance of thirty years almost I can still see myself hobbling to the train the next morning to enjoy one and a half days of mostly travel to spend some hours at home. Next I see my feet, all swollen and full of blisters. I would remember the farmer standing at the wayside to give us a refreshing apple after he had seen us walk by his farm five times already on our way to complete the seven rounds in the hill range called Jura in the French speaking part of Switzerland. An orchard that I marched by as a young soldier on the 50 km march during boot camp. Next, an image of an orchard would come alive. And that red apple might be accompanied by the refreshing sweet and sour taste of an apple in my mouth, and it might trigger hunger and craving. There are those trivial cases: somebody mentions an apple, and I’ld see a red apple. If I imagine that all those things that get me thinking would in addition have an image pop up before my inner eye, I get all dizzy. This text is a musing about “What if I was not internally blind?” Otherwise known as image-free imagination.
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