I have never been comfortable with tunnels. There is an entrance, and one presumes that there is an exit, but how do we know that for sure? I would have to trust the architect or maker of a tunnel before I feel secure in entering such a space. Also, I’m concerned about the size and height, which can lead me to feelings of vertigo or being sucked in and not being able to get out of the space. Each step I take inside a tunnel is one of hesitancy and unsureness of my being able to withstand the anxiety. What would be cruel to me if the other end of the tunnel didn’t have an open exit, and I would have to walk back to the entrance. That is something I would think about before even entering such a tunnel.
Usually, in a tunnel, there is only one direction to go; therefore, one is controlled by its architecture or plan. Even sound is different in a tunnel where you can hear the echo of your voice or someone else’s, and the way it bounces back to me is like it has a life of its own. I even feel anxious if I’m in a car traveling through a tunnel. Thoughts come upon me that the car may break down in the middle of a tunnel, and then what can I do?
Another version of a tunnel is an MRI machine. One is placed on a gurney/hospital bed on your back; then, one is positioned to go through the tunnel-like space. You are told not to move because it can cause a blurry photograph or scan. For me, I had to take a narcotic beforehand to go through the process because I was very nervous. I’m happy that I did so because I was in that machine for thirty minutes. The one thing I did like was the electronic noise that the machine produced while inside. I got into the rhythms, and oddly enough, it reminded me of some of the instrumental pieces of Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band’s Trout Mask Replica. Sometimes, the machine would go silent, and all you can hear and feel is the wind from inside the tunnel. They place a rubber squeezable ball that lets them know if you need help during the process because they strongly suggest not crawling out of the MRI by yourself.
Going to a museum also feels like a tunnel to me. Most shows are set up where one can only go in one direction because the institution wants to ensure that you go to all the rooms, and there should be an exit at the end of the exhibition. But in my mind, I feel like I’m in a maze, and if I keep going on, such as in another room, I’ll eventually be lost. The worst feeling is not being able to remove yourself from a premise because you get disorientated by the height and width of a room, especially if there is a large sculpture or a large canvas in that room. The floor pattern can set me off as well.
As a young teenager, I used to watch a TV show called The Time Tunnel. The series ran from 1966 to 1967, so I think only for a season, but they made thirty episodes. The premise of the show is that two scientists are stuck in a Time Tunnel, where they are bounced back and forth between the past and the future. In other words, they are stuck in the tunnel and can never get back to their present time (or home). The show expresses my concerns regarding the fact that once you enter, you may never leave.
I concur. Tunnels are trouble. I'm fine with them now, actually, but there was a time... I once had a panic attack in fast two-way traffic driving through the Holland Tunnel in NYC while my parents were having a full-blown argument between the passenger and back seat. Another time I was driving with friends on Las Virgenes Rd going down to Malibu, and I simply could not drive through that short tunnel. I had to stop inside the tunnel (not a good idea) and let someone else drive. Strange unconscious forces within us can have the final say at the most awkward moments.