By James Wadman
To what extent do we understand the human mind?
I’ll let that question drift in the air for a while.
My idea for this new series of articles begins late at night, as I listen to music that will hopefully soothe me to sleep. My ego is partial to reverie but my mind is at peace with its wakefulness. I listen to music I have heard before, and the places the melodies take me are familiar. Memories construct a picture in my mind to go along with auditory frequencies that once were recorded in a studio, but even further back they were an idea that exploded into physical emotion. I can close my eyes and be wherever I want, even places I have never been before.
Tonight I can be in the sky, miles above my bed. I can hover above the pale blue clouds beneath the stars that shine beside our beloved white moon. I can be in the future or before the genesis of mankind, because the particles in my body once knew what it was like to be inhuman. So tonight, I too can be inhuman. I can be the air above the clouds, the frequencies of a song, the love a man never knew when every atom in his bones had a heart that ached and smiled and wept and rejoiced. May I drift away tonight? May I be now what I never have been, but at any moment I know I could be?
The song will end and I will return to my body. All these miles I have traveled in a matter of minutes because of the notes of a melody and the serenity of an hour passed midnight.