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Windows of the mind

2013/02/12 in Uncategorized


Jacques Cilliers was a barista
and, of course, knew a great deal
about coffee.
He tended, though,
to think widely,
when he wasn’t concentrating on business.

He decided to find something
that wasn’t in his mind.
There was so much in his mind –
but he was familiar with all of it,
he wanted to find
something that was not familiar to his mind.

In another galaxy,
he thought,
suns were emerging from broiling gas clouds,
hissing and burbling
like as espresso machine.
Three kilometres down in solid rock
and organism was slowly dividing. Slowly.
It did not know oxygen.
Oxygen would kill it.
In the expanse of a forest
in South America,
a small mammal,
the size of a cat,
was building a structure
in a tree,
a shelter for its pregnant mate;
it had opposable thumbs;
no human being had ever seen it.
In the vault of a cathedral
in Cologne,
a brittle manuscript,
bound in vellum,
lay forgotten underneath
the works of a forgotten monk;
it was a musical score
that rivalled the brilliance
of Mozart.

Jacques nodded his head in satisfaction:
these were certainly outside his mind.

He strolled on the beach,
feeling contented.
Then he stopped,
cold seawater washed over his toes,
he felt as if he was turning
into a smoothed black rock
as he realised
that all those things
were now inside his mind;
he stared fixedly
from the windows of his mind –
there was nothing outside.

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