Everything is almost indistinguishable, visually every bit as sharp, audibly just as crisp, so exactly how does this unspoken phenomenon manifest itself? Or perhaps, more pertinently, to which purpose did this otherwise undetectable screen first elect to descend?
Challenge me to provide concrete evidence, simply for its mere existence and, every time, I'll draw a complete blank. "Have faith!" I might be tempted to retort, if I am left with any inclination whatsoever to respond.
That isn't to say that the required evidence cannot be unearthed- locked away as it is in our tiny gene pools, secreted within those mysterious chemical imbalances and under-performing neurotransmitters. But buried it is, and deeply enough to suit those who might wish to to deny, or conveniently relegate, its immense significance. Enough manoeuvre for the overindulged art of denied culpability then; indeed who amongst us might have the required computer printout of our own mind's chemical imbalances conveniently to hand?
It was there again the other day, tangible enough, one might mistakenly have assumed, to afford a full and yet mysterious protection from vehicular impact, should its muffling accompaniment transpire to impair my usually fully-adequate road sense. Muffled and yet nothing is hazy; it doesn't actually prevent or seriously impair conversation- other than, seriously, any inclination towards such- nor tactile experience. Yet still I am here, encased within, and everything else is there, just outside.
Defying inclination, I might speak, express myself almost as fully as at any other time, be observed to continue much as before. In any physical sense it is a barrier to nothing, except that I might be less driven to relate to those beyond its perimeter. So, is it even there? Were I pressed could I locate it?
Whilst weaving a pathway through the busy city crowds I have sometimes perceived it to be something akin to a fully multi-sensationally-transparent screen, perhaps located just a few metres outside of my being. Yet this has, in no way whatsoever, clarified the issue. Should another happen to wander inside my boundary they would, by necessity, be closer and yet still be very much outside of the screen. Should I so choose, I might easily make physical contact with any 'outsider' and yet, even during such a contact, we would remain firmly upon either side of this indeterminate boundary; I entrapped within, the other obliviously without.
I know that I am not and yet it is almost as if I am, in some sense, invisible. Should I elect to- desire, at such times remains entirely outside of my sphere of relevance- I might sit and observe the other world, inexplicably unnoticed, perhaps then almost invisible.
And lest this ultra-vague attempt at clarification should chance to (appear to) illuminate the topic, allow me, please, to waft a further belt of blanket cumulostratus before your powers of perception. This being that, upon meeting up with my adorable daughter, which I did upon that day- ever a warmly-anchoring and welcome occurrence- that she was able to slip effortlessly inside and to thereupon rupture this invisible barrier, affording almost instant and fuller access to a wider world. Once again to be readmitted to the world beyond!
Conjured with impeccable stealth from the very aether, an hour-and-a-half later, no longer residing within that protective aura, separated once again from my talisman, the screen had again returned.
It does not, not for me, descend like the alliterative black cloud, nor does it prevent my actual ability to rise from my bed, nor, I would argue, my ability to appear to fully function. It does, on the other hand, seriously impair any desire or compunction to do or partake of any of these things and, by association, anything and virtually everything else. And yet still, in so many societal senses, it does not exist at all.
The point at which I first slipped seamlessly behind life's double-glazed unit, this place from whence I might continue, far more remotely, to observe life's comings and goings, remains, by design, a well-cocealled secret. That I might, never have forewarning of its approach seems to have very much fashioned who I am. And this much I know to be true, regardless of whether those on the outside acknowledge the existence of such a phenomenon or not. Further, it does not console me to believe that I am not quite so alone as my perceptions would often suggest.
Might there be something peculiar to this life in the Western World, that has brought about such a rise in the effective emotional withdrawal of so many? This is a thought which is never far from the forefront of my thinking during such isolated times, perhaps something about the values we choose to hold dear and maybe about those that we choose not to value at all?
Another question which crossed my mind recently was that, once the chaos and the debris and the bodies have been tidied away, once Hurricane Sandy has had its shout, who will be reaping the financial rewards? Clearly it won't be the poor souls who have returned to find much of what they once owned scattered to the four horizons. But, in this world of share-holding, where fatal disease can be and is perceived as a nice little earner, where the push to 'invest' in our once great NHS is currently gaining pace, we can be certain that somewhere, perhaps more quietly celebrated, there will be stock market gains, and champaign corks a-popping!
A similar thought crossed my mind as I first watched the twin towers crumble in to the dust.
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