What Is But Never Was

Often I sit here at this webpage with an empty text field, some deep and rich song playing from my black speakers, and ruminate, looking to the limits of distance both at minimum inwardly, and maximum outwardly. I can lose minutes here in my mind. Afterwards it is as if I have suffered a seizure, with no recollection of previous thoughts, only realizing that my knees are sore from sitting in the same position for too long. Sometimes I am left with a sense of grandeur that I suspect correlates with the breadth of my thought, a hint of the magnificence that has been lost.

These moments are not without effect. I rouse myself to find that I have been wrapped in a layer of foam. I cannot hear as clearly. I cannot see what I look at. I feel my clothes on my back, my glasses on my face, but in truth I do not feel anything at all but a vagueness that fails to represent my surroundings. When I turn to listen, I realize that I can hear everything, every little detail, every mouse-step in the wall, every leaf clap from the trees outside, every tic, every toc. When I look at my hands, the wall, a sheet of paper, I have tunnel vision as through a telescope, showing me every feature, every aspect. I know everything. I am everything. But these are not real sounds, real sights, they are the foam that surrounds me, surrounds my mind, a dense layer of reality that is not real but to my senses.

It is as if my mind escapes from the complicated shell of its body during these times, removing itself from the whirring and ticking of life in order to nestle in its own comfortable essences. It is not a dream. It is as real as the nose on your face, or the feeling of dew on the grass when you step on it barefoot. It would be an insult to call this time "daydreaming", for the aforementioned reasons, but also because it is neither night nor day, as those are merely products of planetary rotation. The best description would be an inversion, since my mind is moving inside of itself, yet it is expanding, so perhaps an explosion might also be appropriate.

After a few moments, I can feel the foam recede. This is hastened by any single action at all, as if the sensation of soft carpet underfoot is equivalent to the slash of a keen blade through my subconscious remnants. I am left with only what I do see, what I do hear, what I do know, which is so much less than what was but a moment ago.