Notes on Blindness Page #2

I'm conscious of smiling.

I mean, I'm conscious of the movement.

Even, one might say, the effort of smiling.

I think the reason is that

there is no returning smile.

One never gets anything for

one's own smiles.

One is sending off dead letters.

Consequently, I can feel myself

stopping smiling.

Or I think I can.

I must ask someone close to me

whether this is true or not.

A note on Thomas' awareness of my blindness.

He sadly wandered off into the mountains,

knowing that he could never look into

the beautiful eyes

of Rapunzel again.

Thomas asked me, "Why was he blind?"

"Because his eyes were poorly."

"My eyes are poorly."

He said to me in a very serious

and probing voice...

"Are you blind?"

"Yes, I am."

"Your eyes are closed."

"Yes, but even when I open my eyes,

I still can't see."

"Can't you see the pictures?"

"I can see the pictures."

"Your eyes aren't poorly."

I put my hand over his eyes

and held his eyes closed.

"Now can you see?" I said.

He said, "No."

"Now?"

"Yes, I can see now."

"Yes, my eyes aren't poorly."

I am reminded of being in Wales with Imogen,

when she said to me...

"Daddy,

"if I cried and my tears fell on your eyes,

"would you be able to see again?"

This thought she had got, I'm sure,

from Rapunzel.

And they lived happily ever after.

Cassette two, track one.

A strange experience with a faith healer.

On Thursday evening,

we stopped at the Indian restaurant

in Bristol Street.

Isn't this a wonderful example

of what it's like to be a parent?

I hope everything is to your satisfaction.

May I?

I took him to be a waiter

who worked in the restaurant.

He asked me if I was completely blind,

how long I had been blind,

the cause of my blindness was.

Well, um,

in one way or another, I suppose,

I've been fighting against blindness

most of my life.

Please, go on...

Er...

when I was a child,

I lost my sight for the first time.

I've had all sorts of operations

and gradually sight simply faded away.

Why do you ask?

And now you see nothing?

Nothing.

I don't see anything now.

And, yet, you still wear glasses?

Silly, really, isn't it?

I'd feel rather undressed

without my glasses.

Tell me, do you still hope

that you will see again?

No, I don't hold out hope.

The doctors have told me

it's quite impossible.

And you believe them?

He told me about some of the

marvellous cures he'd done, even cancer.

My sight is dependent on my will

and he, through hypnotherapy,

could help to restore my will.

I see.

Could you restore a leg lost

in a traffic accident?

You have no eyes? Are they gone?

It's just a mass of jelly.

Willpower cannot restore it.

He was speechless!

He was absolutely speechless!

But, John,

do you think it's got to the point

where you don't really want to

get your sight back?

What makes you say that?

Well, you always seem to be so happy.

You seem to be functioning so well.

Oh, Liz.

If only you knew half the truth.

Of course I want my sight back.

I will never accept

the human losses of blindness.

Every time I wake up,

I lose my sight.

Last night, I dreamt that my sight improved.

I had the most intense picture of Thomas

as a cuddly, little boy.

In my dream I said to myself,

"There you are, you see.

"In good light, you can still manage

fairly well."

My waking reflection is that

my dreaming life

is still denying the reality.

...heavy swell breaking onto the rocks.

Five were swept into the sea,

three from one group, and two from another.

Sennen and Penlee lifeboats

were called to search as dusk gathered.

The Royal Navy helicopter from Culdrose

flew back and forth across the sea.

That's page 104.

My comments... this text

is an interesting example in the Bible

of the limitations of a theology of vision.

Give us an H.

Give us an A.

Give us a P.

Give us another P.

Give us a Y...

Happy Xmas!

Because now it's party time!

Immy!

Come here for a minute!

'Ello, 'ello, 'ello, look what I found!

Another one of these.

What's this, Tom?

Oh, I know what this is.

What?

When you hold it in the light,

you can see all the colours

really brightly. It's beautiful, look.

Oh, that's nice!

What I remember about you

most vividly in those years

was your amazing practicality.

You never expressed regrets.

You just got on with the next thing,

step by step.

The way you did that,

I always thought was quite incredible.

Dedicated To The One I Love

by The Mamas & The Papas

# While I'm far away from you, my baby. #

Would you take Imagine by John Lennon?

An obvious choice.

No. Dylan, you'd surely want to take Dylan?

Well, I know, but there

one is completely stuck.

I know what you'd take

and what we'd both take!

- What?

- Jacqueline Du Pre

- playing Elgar's Cello... whatsit?

- Yes!

- There you are.

- I think we've got one.

# Each night before you go to bed, my baby

# Whisper a little prayer for me, my baby

# And tell all the stars above

# This is dedicated to the one I...

# Love...

# Can never be exactly like we want it to be

# Love can never be

exactly like we want it to be... #

# Love can never be... #

A huge wave crashed down, separating us all.

There was a debris of

floating merchandise and dead bodies.

I searched for them everywhere

in despair and found nothing.

It was hopeless, they'd simply disappeared.

Somebody had reminded me

that part of the human brain

specialises in the reception

and processing of visual material.

Now I would like to know what happens

to that part of the brain

when optic stimulation ceases.

Could this perhaps account

for the sense of suffering

I have experienced over

the past year or two?

The feeling I am describing

is a sense of hunger, of aridity.

A feeling that one's brain longs for

optic stimulation,

as the body longs for food.

The brain itself thirsts for that

to which it is accustomed.

Part of my brain is dying.

Say Merry Christmas to Mummy.

Merry Christmas, Mummy!

Merry Christmas, sweetheart.

Let's have a Christmas kiss.

What's that? My word!

What is it, Tom?

What is this?

- A mouth organ.

- Good Lord!

That particular Christmas was the worst.

- Dad, look at these.

- What is it?

What is it?

I don't know.

I think it's probably bubble bath.

Father Christmas must have smelt you

all the way from the North Pole.

I was stuck.

You know, I couldn't get up and leave.

How could I walk out on Christmas Day?

- No...

- You know?

But I couldn't stay, either.

Wait for me. How do I look in these?

You look terrific!

Did Father Christmas leave those?

- Are they comfy?

- Yeah.

Are they warm?

- Yeah.

- Are they?

What colour are they?

Ever so nice, aren't they?

Are they a good fit?

Special winter slippers.

Go and look at yourself in the mirror.

That was when you came up to me and said,

"You look dreadful.

Why don't you go into the office?"

Just go to work.

Just go.

I had a desperate feeling of being enclosed.

Having to get out. I must get out.

I had only gone about a hundred yards

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