(Some strange reflections stemming out of a pun that I found today)
The eye of the tornado is the point of zero. In Psycho, the circular drain of the bathtub merges into the eye of the murdered Marion. The eye is the center of the X—the strange attractor, the virtual point, the object, the “I”, a nothing that points forward.
It is a cliche that “the eye is the window of the soul.” If it is, I say it is because we see ourselves in the eye that looks at us. If it is, I say it is because we see the abyss of subjectivity, the “night of the world”, in the eye. C.f. Meister Hegel:
“The human being is this Night, this empty nothing which contains everything in its simplicity – a wealth of infinitely many representations, images, none of which occur to it directly, and none of which are not present. This [is] the Night, the interior of [human] nature, existing here – pure Self – [and] in phantasmagoric representations it is night everywhere: here a bloody head suddenly shoots up and there another white shape, only to disappear as suddenly. We see this Night when we look a human being in the eye, looking into a Night which turns terrifying. [For from his eyes] the night of the world hangs out toward us.”
When we look into the eye, we see chaos. The constant shifting and becoming, the craziness of everything. I am who I am, because I am the eye.