As the undulating sheet flowing in the wind moves gently across your skin, the complexity of fluid dynamics is overshadowed by its overwhelming beauty. But when you walk into the sheets of fabric, the lights begin to strobe. Air flow is no longer perceived as a continuously changing force. Instead, bright white blobs are scattered across your vision in stuttering flashes. The stream of information embodied by the movement of the fabric is segmented into instances held in time by the imprint of light on your retina. Psychological continuity is lost. Yet, the body, in the physical world, continues to feel the fabric.
What is the temporality of the body vs. the brain? How much of our sensations are lost before being synthesized by the mind? What we understand in the moment that something makes sense is probably only a sliver of all of the forces continuously at play in the dark.