Our eyes, skin, ears, nose, and tongue detect stimuli from the environment. They are called “senses” because of their capacity for specificity: each organ is comprised of receptor cells, which convert a physical or chemical signal into an electrical nerve impulse. Electricity remains largely a mystery, while some think of it as spirit, but I digress. . . The science says the nerve impulses then wind up at the brain, by dent of pathways. This information “highway” of nerves forms a system—a communication link between sensory organs (eyes, ears, skin, nose, and tongue) and the brain and spinal cord; more precisely, the central nervous system.

To respond to stimuli, say, a beautiful sunset accompanied by the ree-ree of crickets, the brain may combine sensory input, called “sensory integration.” We do this unconsciously, i.e., you see and hear a pot of soup simmering on the stove and, from past experience, you do not test it with a finger, or taste it without blowing on it. But it smells delicious.  

 One of my brothers-in-law, a retired police officer, once explained the procedure for victims of rape, whose nervous systems, for all intents and purposes, shut down as a result of the violation. They are encouraged to use each sense (sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch) in order to recreate the incident, greatly aiding in processing the trauma, and to integrate the psychic and physical harm, which in time can then begin to heal—if by fits and starts. Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, named integration (of knowledge of horrific events; of aspects of ourselves we deny; or of our largely unconscious selves) as a step toward individuation and authenticity.

The nervous system relies on our senses, one reason to limit news programs and social networks today. The term “nervous breakdown” is currently referred to as either “overwhelm” or “burn-out.” I have also heard it called a “nervous break-up,” as we break up habitual patterns and responses to permit healthier forms to rise.

In my novel, The Riven Country of Senga Munro, Grannie Cowry tells her granddaughter about a dream wherein a recently deceased friend appears to her. “What’s it like?” Grannie asks her. “Oh, you know, your senses? Here, it’s like they’re all a one big one!” replies the friend. This dream came to me after the untimely death of a friend. It was a “Big” dream, I was told by his brother.  Today I think of the five senses as facets on a diamond. A big diamond.