When I was a small child, I stumbled on a simple game of sensory deception while carrying a mirror from one room to another. If I gazed only at the image of the ceiling reflected between my hands, the familiar floor of my living room took on a surreal quality: hanging plants rose out of smooth planes of white plaster with their leaves growing at exotic angles; light bulbs on long, delicate chains stood at attention between billows of cloth that defied gravity. At first, I stepped around these marvels, only to bark my shin on a nearby chair; then, after realizing I should not rely on my sense of sight, I began to feel my way through the known environment while enjoying the contradictory images my eyes offered to my newly developing brain. I learned larger mirrors were better. Staircases became interesting, their narrow, sloping grades lurching and swooning as the mirror jostled under my hesitant step. Open skies were riveting. On the sweet-smelling safety of lawns, I hopped from cloud to cloud, avoiding telephone wires and stomping on treetops. Even knowing what I did, crossing the vast expanses of open blue space caused my heart to race and, on one occasion, I recall a passing adult baffled by my large mirror and audible exclamations of "Whoa! Whoa! Just a little farther. Just a few more steps." I was a... More >>>