I like to imagine a hidden world that I can enter whenever I am standing in a long line, waiting out a traffic jam, or any situation where I feel trapped.

If I close my eyes, unseen layers of experience become apparent: birds chirping, clocks ticking, motors rumbling, or the drone of a distant jet, sounds that usually get lost in the visual glare.

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Other senses like touch, smell, and taste are with me all the time, but I only seem to notice them when they grab attention, when they delight or offend. I am aware of the scent of cookies baking because I want cookies. And I notice pungent mopping fluid because it is unpleasantly sharp. Subtler scents get ignored.

Or if they are unpleasant, I may even try to block them out. Wailing babies, strident laughter, and squeaky shopping carts make me tense; desperate to get away, I mentally “fight” the noise.

But when I turn my full attention to them, something changes; they stop being irritating as I try to pick out all the sounds I was missing before.

Listening becomes a kind of game: Where is the rustling noise coming from? How many sounds can I identify? Did that person really just say that? The game has made me aware that fighting the sounds is far more stressful than the sounds themselves. Listening relaxes me; even better, it enriches my writing.

Whether or not I notice scents or sounds, they are part of what make up the fabric of my life. If I leave them out of my writing, my fictional renderings of experience seem flat. Imagery is powerful, yet vision is only a skin of reality. When vision falls away, soundscapes, touchscapes, and scentscapes rise to replace it.

I first had that thought during a traffic jam while I was in the passenger seat. Imagining my car sprouting wings and flying over the other cars was not working, so instead I closed my eyes and listened. Sounds drifted to me from below and above. It was like a shroud had been pulled away, revealing a hidden layer of experience.

No longer impatient for the moment to end, I relaxed. I became aware of the steady one-two beat of the windshield wiper, the hum of the car motor, the sloshing sounds of tires, and the murmur of the stereo, all merging to form an accidental melody.

Focusing on listening banished my boredom; impatience yielded to calm interest. And by becoming aware of sounds and feelings beyond the reach of vision, I make it more likely that the next time I sat down to write, those details will return to me.

Aside from enjoying writing benefits, I like visiting my hidden place full of textures, scents, and sounds. I can go there any time, the humming, rattling, cookie-scented World Beneath Sight; all I need to do is close my eyes.