Is this pathetic? Here I go (with "Give Peace a Chance" as background noise), posting a quote from a short story I wrote a long time ago, but not willing to post all of it until I return to it and polish it, or, as Nadia would say, rub the story right out of it. Well here's a complete thought:
The last epiphany episode happened months ago. It had something to do with the way we look at things in the dark, how it’s easier to locate a Turkish fifteenth-century manuscript of the Koran, for example, in an unlit room at night by not looking straight at it, but by trying to make out the Book’s shape peripherally. Once you try to look at it directly, with the eye of a technician or the critic, it blends with the darkness of the wall and becomes indiscernible. Out of nowhere, a blow gun shot a dart of inspiration into my neck that felled me, something about what this phenomenon means in a spiritual context, what it means for the seekers of the world and the methods of seeking. At last there was something more to the dark-vision phenomenon than a physiological explanation of the allocation of photoreceptors in our retinas—an assigned purpose to the cartography of rods and cones. And so, some conclusions thundered inside of me. But in the self-conscious excitement of “Why me?” I lost the thought in a deep sulcus of my brain. I tried to lure up the thoughts. But the harder I tried to remember with direct focused thinking, the more elusive it became. Harassed by anxiety, I felt the pathways blocked and synapses misfiring, maybe because neurons making greater sense of themselves is impossible, perhaps needing outside help, something external high and away to give things their proper sense, a new light. So when I attempted to transplant the focal point of my concentration from the center of my mind to about the ears, to fool my own neurons, to simulate, kind of, revelation, I finally made out its form and traced its dim edges with my fingers. I ran for a pen, and finally made it to the kitchen; I picked up a ComEd bill from underneath the table and began to write, but alas, unable to advance beyond, “Thank God, I remember!” I was back in the bubble.