What has happened to me today?. I was alone this morning, seated at my desk. I felt a little faint, a little light-headed. I took Misha for a short walk. I could hear the gravel underneath my shoes as I walked along the driveway behind the church. I’m sure that I am always capable of hearing gravel under my shoes, but it is not typically a sound that draws my attention.

I’ve just washed the dishes and the sloshy sound of the soapy water, the gentle scrape of the sponge, the soft wind outside gently pushing the tops of the pine trees back and forth, the respiratory sound of the occasional car driving by all tickle my perception to a degree that is unfamiliar. I look, I watch with acuity and patience. I am not myself.

Earlier, I had gone to the vet to pick up a prescription for pain medicine for Misha. TED talks were on the radio. In it a woman described a stroke that initially paralyzed her father, a rabbi, from his cheeks to his toes. He could not move or speak, but his eyes and his brain were functional, and his daughter showed deep love and compassion to her father by speaking the alphabet so that he could spell words by blinking his eye at every letter that spelled a word. His desire and success at communicating made me cry. He had somehow accepted who he was and how effortful it now was to communicate, but he also seemed to have embraced a new way of seeing, of hearing, of thinking.

That I had experienced unknown sensory perceptions just prior to hearing this story on the radio has now filled my body with a trance-like stillness. I do not feel normal , but not normal in a positive rather than negative sense.

My senses are unfamiarly acute. What can this mean?