Extra Sensory Strawberries

THE FRUIT OF THE MIND          

 "Can you smell it? Can you smell my mind?" 

The words came like a gentle breeze, a barely audible whisper. Despite being faint, they were clear. The smell was much more prominent.

"Strawberries!" she giggled audibly.

"Shh," another ghostly whisper. "Talking out loud muddies the stream. Now what?" 

Re-centering her attention on her breath, she concentrated and whispered with her mind.

"Bumpy, now smooth, then bumpy again." her voice crooned.

"Adjust the resolution of your posterior cingulate cortex." His whisper, though barely perceptible to her mind, managed to sound condescending, though in a kindly way. "I told you talking would muddy things."

Though she couldn't see him, his mood was clear through the whisper.

She complied by shifting her conscious awareness to a small mass near the back of her skull. It sang to her.

 She perceived there what can only be described as a diminishing. It was slight, but perceptible. The diminishing gave way to a rush of complex, multisensory perception. The experience is different for everyone, but to her, it was an immense lake, almost an ocean. She could sense the lakes unfathomable depth and labyrinthian currents, the small rippling undulations on the surface, it's mammoth submerged swells and large, deep currents. So magnificent, so vast, so ancient. Frightening and beautiful, it was ominously captivating in a discomfortingly familiar way. 

Then she saw what she came for, or sensed it rather. Though she could not actually see in this space, her perception was three dimensional and remote. By "looking," at something here, it was just as good as actually seeing it. There was a small disturbance, a patch on the surface of the otherwise homogenous patterns. The undulations here were smaller and rougher, more squarish and spiky, when compared to those around it. She stared intently for a moment, studying the patch, internalizing it's textures and rhythms, its dancing subtleties and flowing forms. They pulsed and writhed, unfolding and enveloping her until she too, pulsed and writhed. 

TO BE CONTINUED . . .