Imagine yourself seated at a writing table, with a pad of thick white notepaper before you. Still in imagination, take a pen or a fine paint brush, dip it in India ink and, at the centre of the first sheet of paper, make a round black dot. Now pay attention to the white background immediately adjoining the right side of the dot, then to that immediately adjoining the left, and repeat, swinging rhythmically back and forth. As in reality, the imaginary dot will appear to move to the left, when you shift attention to the right, and to the right, when you shift attention to the left.
The following variant on the single dot may be used if desired. On another sheet of imaginary paper inscribe two dots, about four inches apart, and between them, but about an inch below them, a circle of about half an inch in diameter. Imagine this circle very black, and the white space within it intensely white. Then shift the inward eye from the dot on the right, to the dot on the left, and repeat the action rhythmically. The movement of the circle will be in the opposite direction to that of the attention.
Next, in your imagination, take another sheet of paper and trace upon it a giant colon, composed of two big dots about half an inch apart, and next to it, half an inch to the right, a semi-colon of the same proportions. Now, shift the attention from the upper dot of the colon to the upper dot of the semi-colon; then down to the comma of the semi-colon; then, left, to the lower dot of the colon; and from that, vertically, to the upper dot. Repeat this rhythmic shifting round and round the square composed by the three round dots and the comma. As the mind’s eye travels to the right, the constellation of punctuation marks will appear to move to the left; as the attention descends it will seem to go up; as it shifts to the left, the apparent movement will be to the right; and as it moves up to its original starting point, the dots will seem to descend.
These three procedures combine the merits of the small-scale swinging shift with those of the imagination drill. The mind has to relax enough to be able to mobilize its memory-images of punctuation marks, and combine them into simple patterns, while the attention (and consequently the physical eyes) is made to cultivate the sight-producing habit of the small-scale swinging shift—a shift which, in the third procedure, becomes a rhythmic version of the analytical regard.
The following procedure was devised by a Spanish follower of Dr. Bates, and the author of a book and various articles on the method, Dr. R. Arnau.
It is a kind of imaginary shifting swing—but a shifting swing with a difference, inasmuch as it seems to involve the physical apparatus of accommodation in ways which the ordinary swinging shift does not.
Imagine yourself holding between the thumb and forefinger a ring of stout rubber or wire, sufficiently rigid to retain its circular shape when not interfered with, but sufficiently elastic to assume, when squeezed, the form of an ellipse. Close the lids, and regard this imaginary ring, running the inward eye all around it. Then, with your imaginary hand, gently squeeze the ring laterally, so that it is deformed into an ellipse with the long axis running vertically. Look at this ellipse for a moment, then relax the pressure of your hand and allow the ring to return to its circular form. Now, shift the position of the thumb and forefinger from the sides of the ring to the top and bottom, and squeeze.
The ring will be distorted into an ellipse with the long axis running horizontally. Relax the pressure, watch the ellipse re-transform itself into a circle, shift the position of thumb and forefinger to the sides of the ring and repeat the whole procedure ten or fifteen times, rhythmically. Exactly what happens, physiologically, as one watches, in imagination, the successive transformations of circle into vertically orientated ellipse, vertically orientated ellipse into circle, circle into horizontally orientated ellipse, and horizontally orientated ellipse into circle, it is hard to say. But there can be no doubt, from the sensations one feels in and around the eye, that considerable muscular adjustments and re-adjustments are continually taking place, as one goes through this cycle of visualizations.
Subjectively, these sensations seem to be the same as those experienced, when one shifts the attention rapidly from the distance to a point very near the eyes and back again. Why the apparatus of accommodation should come into play under these conditions, it is not easy to understand. But the fact remains that it seems to do so. It is found empirically that this drill, while valuable in all forms of visual defect, is particularly useful in cases of myopia.
Another excellent procedure, which is simultaneously an exercise in mind-body co-ordination, an imagination drill, and a small-scale shift, is “nose-writing.” Sitting down comfortably in an easy chair, close your eyes and imagine that you have a good long pencil attached to the end of your nose. (Lovers of Edward Lear will remember his pictures of the “Dong.”) Equipped with this instrument, move your head and neck so as to write with your protracted nose upon an imaginary sheet of paper (or, if the pencil is thought of as being white, on an imaginary blackboard) eight or nine inches in front of your face. Begin by drawing a good-sized circle.
Since your control over the movements of the head and neck is less perfect than your control of the hand, this circle will certainly look a bit angular and lopsided to the eyes of your imagination. Go over it half a dozen times, round and round, until the thickened circumference comes to look presentable. Then draw a line from the top of your circle to the bottom, and go over it six times. Draw another line at right angles to the first and go over that in the same way. Your circle will now contain a St. George’s Cross. Superimpose upon it a St. Andrew’s Cross, by drawing two diagonals, and finish off by jabbing with your imaginary pencil at the central meeting-place of the four lines.
Tear off your scribbled sheet of paper, or, if you prefer to work in white on a blackboard, visualize yourself wiping away the chalk with a duster. Then, turning the head gently and easily from one shoulder to the other, draw a large infinity sign—a figure of eight, lying on its side. Go over it a dozen times paying attention, as the inward eye travels with the imaginary pencil, to the way in which the successive repetitions of the figure coincide or diverge.
Wipe the blackboard once more, or prepare another clean sheet of paper, and, this time, use your pencil to do a little writing. Begin with your own signature. Because your head and neck move so jerkily, it will look like the signature of an alcoholic illiterate. But practice makes perfect; take a new sheet and begin again. Do this four or five times; then write any other word or phrase that appeals to you.
Like some of the other procedures described above, these drills may seem rather silly, childish and undignified. But this is not important. The important thing is that they work. A little nose-writing, followed by a few minutes of palming, will do wonders in relieving the fatigue of a strained mind and staring eyes, and will result in a perceptible temporary improvement of defective vision. This temporary improvement will become permanent, as the normal and natural functioning fostered by nose-writing and the other procedures described in this book, becomes habitual and automatic.
Mind and body form a single unitary whole. Consequently, such mental processes as remembering and imagining are facilitated by the performance of bodily movements conformable to the objects of our thoughts—the kind of movements we would make if, instead of merely remembering and imagining, we were actually at work upon the things we are thinking about. For example, when remembering or imagining letters or numerals, it is often helpful to place the ball of the thumb in contact with the forefinger and, with it, to print the letters you are working on. Or, alternatively, they may be printed in nose-writing. Or again, if you prefer a more realistic gesture, you may pick up an imaginary pen and trace the signs upon an imaginary notebook.
The aid of the body may also be enlisted through speech. As you remember or imagine a letter, form its name with your lips, or even utter it aloud. The spoken word is so intimately associated with all our processes of thought that any familiar movement of the mouth and vocal cords tends automatically to evoke an image of the thing represented by the articulate sound, which is the product of that movement. Consequently, it is always easier to see what one is reading, when one pronounces the words aloud. People for whom reading is a novelty or a rather difficult and infrequent task—such as children, for example, and the imperfectly educated—realize this fact instinctively.
In order to sharpen their vision for the unfamiliar symbols on the page before them, they habitually read aloud. People with defective vision are people, whom their disability has reduced, so to speak, to the cultural ranks. However great their learning, they have become like children or illiterates, for whom the printed word is something strange and hard to decipher. This being so, they should, while
