i glanced back at the sheet of ice spreading all over the park.  all i saw were white, shining intricacies covering several leafless trees.  one part of the bench table where i was sitting on still had snow on it, and the melting ice almost drenched my dress pants.  it seemed like a clear sunny day, but the breeze made it feel like it were in the lower 30s.  my thick coat helped maintain my body heat, and i forced myself to enjoy the sun – its bright rays illuminating the pages of my book and surroundings.  footsteps and snow sled tracks sprawled all over the weather-bleached field.  the figure coming from the north looked like an english springer spaniel hopping its way through the white-powdered prairie, asking for its masters to take it to the other side of the woods. the couple brisked through a covered path while the dog barked back, asking for them to follow its lead.  deformed snowmen were in the distance, while some kids put up a snow fight after county schools closed, and a bearded professorial gentleman, a geologist perhaps – with a coffee jug on one hand and a notepad on the other – made his way from the snow-trodden woods to his car. 

there must have been at least 10 inches of snow that accumulated since last weekend’s snowfall.  the place used to be filled with foliage until everything turned frozen, yet somewhat tranquil and even.  i turned my eyes back to reading, estimating that the remaining patch of green-colored figures, the distant trees on the early afternoon horizon, had subconsciously loosened my eyes after staring at them for a bit. 

after leafing through another chapter, i decided to close my eyes again for a couple more minutes. 

i felt the silence, the wind flowing through my hair; i sat still and listened to myself internally.  i felt a subtle thump – my hearbeat – getting louder; it sounded like the late evening street drummers in sproul hall.  years ago, i walked past these berkeley street drummers who came out of nowhere after spending hours in the library nearby. and i kid you not, you can find street drummers in every major city – downtown.  the reminscence reminded me of those 2 fatigue-proof percussionists playing recurring beats for hours in times square while the foo fighters played with them during one of their mtv2 programs.  there was a documentary about some african tribesmen who used those same beats to turn their shamans into a state of trance while healing the sick.  the beats were said to create a channel for an enlightened spirit to take over their bodies, giving them the healing ability that no mortal man could do. 

sounds strange, isn’t it.  on the same token, many great thinkers and writers had almost used the same technique to produce the greatest works of all time.  ralph waldo emerson used the same channel to produce his writings, beethoven – who was deaf at the age of 35 -transcribed the notes playing in his head ‘note-perfect’ and created the best classical music of all time, nikola tesla saw images in his head and made the greatest inventions…

accepting these “sparks” occurs to everyone.  they come to you in natural forms of serotonin-like states; and once you feel them you either start being aware of their presence or dismiss them as ephemeral internal body functions.  most people who practice self-hypnosis find these occurences the perfect time to train their minds into producing results in everyday life.  those who concur would contain these moments like it was the ‘spiritual catalyst’ that made the entire body tingle.   and then notes/sounds/pictures/words (things that your sensations never experienced before) would start hovering through your brain cells – giving you mental goosebumps.  the same goosebumps that made you feel like you were listening to a part of a song that just sounded so perfect.  imagine a combination of chords that penetrated through your senses they would naturally lift your soul up to the heavens, only that everything was happening inside your brain without the help of external chemicals or elements.  a connection of intricate details and ideas, flowing, never broken, had taken place. 

i woke up, the book still resting on my hand, almost about to fall and get drenched by the snow underneath the bench.  i must have had a 5-minute lapse that seemed like forever.  the mind was bubbling with thoughts, in a state where creativity can be used without even understanding where it’s coming from.

people are like that, they have different perspectives in life until they change the way they’re thinking, and suddenly, they see it.  just right in front of their eyes.  all of it.

insane in the brain.  insane in the membrane.  not.


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