When the blindfold falls over my eyes, I don’t register it as an immediate closure.
First there is a delay.
A kind of internal pause where the world still exists as memory, not as absence.
And that is where it becomes strange.
Not the darkness.
But what I do with it.
Because it should be simple: not seeing, adjusting, continuing.
But it is not simple.
It never is.
In that first stretch of blindness, something becomes overly active.
Not outside.
Inside.
As if the brain starts reorganizing itself elsewhere when it loses external reference.
And that is where the dynamic shifts.
It is not the act of closing.
It is the moment after.
The one that is not decided.
The one that simply happens.
I start noticing that the absence of image does not reduce experience.
It intensifies it.
There is not less.
There is more inward.
And that unsettles me.
Because it should not feel like this.
It should be neutral.
A functional interruption.
But the body does not interpret it as interruption.
It interprets it as entry.
As if the lack of vision did not remove the system…
but forced it to fold inward onto itself.
And in that folding, another kind of attention appears.
Tighter.
More intimate.
Too self-aware.
And I don’t know when that attention starts watching itself.
I only know that it happens.
And the more I try to return to a simple reading of the gesture…
the less simple it becomes.
Because I am no longer just not seeing.
I am noticing that not seeing is also a way of being inside.
Inside something without clear edges.
And the contradiction returns.
The same structure, different shape:
I want to step out of this mentally…
but the act of trying to step out reinforces it.
And then curiosity shifts again.
It is no longer curiosity about what is happening.
It is curiosity about what happens when nothing is happening.
And that takes up more space than it should.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
