(Another writing alongside my students today.)
My eyes are making life difficult.
I notice the messages they are sending, but why are they so angry and on the verge of spilling tears? Each morning, I reach for the Visine, soothe them sometimes with drops for dry eyes, bathe them with warm water and then cold water, but there is still no change, no relief. Each visit to the mirror finds me examining the maps appearing in the white region, rivers of red veins, spidering out in all directions, but clustered near the tear duct, where debris settles into a cavernous space. The lids have formed a coalition with gravity and I exercise them lifting with my mouth, widening both in tandem.
This morning my right eye started acting up deciding to march to a different beat. It seemed to pixelate and I remembered a colleague telling me this is an ocular migraine – a rogue defender of the oculus realm. I couldn’t follow the words on the page, my most favourite time of the day, and I couldn’t find peace with this rebellion taking place.
Listening seems to be a path towards some truce in “this moment” – so many moments that I realize the irritation is the signal. I tell myself, “read the maps in your eyes, listen to the swelling resistance – these parts seeking sovereignty and wanting no part in this grinding pace.”