Still, breathing, concentrating, a young man sits on a pedestal and is one with the universe. He is aware of his surroundings. They don’t matter to him, of course, but is more entitled to where he is right now: His mind. His mind is vast, and covers the entire outer limits of space with rapid images on hand, as if playing a film from a projection. With his eyes closed, they move in synchronization with the pictures stored within all four lobes of the brain. These pictures are undistributed, unpublished, muted, and nearly impossible to convey into realistic probabilities not even the best scientists out there would even bother with the physics of this mind. It’s impossible to ruin such an erratic, but vividly beautiful imagination like this one. They answer to him, and asks him many things. “Will you come with us? Let’s go on an adventure.” “You are the best.” Now, with the pictures flickering and with maximum focus, the sounds of music play. This is not one of those day spa melodies humming throughout the retreat, no. This kind of music is euthanized. This music makes one feel alive when they are filled in their bodies with dead weight and replaces it with powers to outwit nature, and monsters, and even the loneliness of space itself. He can go pretty much anywhere in this trance state. And yet, he is a prisoner. A prisoner of his own demise, and keeps coming back for more. This creature is not part of the gatherings of many people like him who are outgoing. The many voices in his head within his expansive creation shows how vulnerable he is, that he was born like this, shall live like this after such self-actualization, and sin, and sadness, and the many silhouettes tell him he is going to die this way. Perhaps shorter than he might think if he keeps this notion in progress up for a long time. Soon, he may not recognize himself.
This young man suddenly hears a strange, distorted sound. This is not in the music, nor in the memories does he project in his world. No, this one is rather new to him. The sound is actually growing closer and closer to him. The young man is confused, but tries to ignore it, and yet this sound is coming over so slightly in his direction. His eyebrows are clenched downward and his relaxed hands covering the kneecaps begin to close inwardly. He is getting anxious. Then, the calling is a name, followed by loud greetings to make the young man fall out gradually from his own world. And one by one, everything he worked for crumbles around him like cheery blossoms floating in the breeze with no hope of recovery or recollecting again. This one particular sound shuts it all out. And then the young man hears a rush, much like water from the ears after swimming. Three syllables, and is awake. “Abraham!” The eyes are in focus, but dull as the eyelids open. This young man, Abraham, has been shifted back to the real world. A world full of people sharing words of gossip, business, and social aggregation that he is not used to, or can follow closely, and walk among him not paying attention. Abraham takes the small buds from his ears that supported the closeness of his meditation, and looks up at the individual in front of him. “Hey Guy.” He says, staying composed while frustration immediately grows in the back of the mind. “Am I bothering you?” Guy asks, completely oblivious. “No, I was about to get up anyway.”