90 Days of Epicureanism. An Excerpt.
There is a girl, too mature to be considered little, too inexperienced to be considered fully-grown. She is a month away from nineteen, barely a woman but getting there.
You can see her pacing back and forth in her room waiting for an idea, currently on the tip of her tongue, to consolidate itself and in turn ignite within her a plan. Her breath races as she paces. There is a collision of sorts inside her mind: thoughts fusing into something bigger. She steps to the left. One, two, three, four. Thumping echoes through as her bare feet slap across the cold, wooden floor. One, two, three, four. A quick halt. A sharp turn. One, two, three, four. She’s in the verge of insight. One, two, three, four. She’s in the peak of revelation. One, two, three, four. Breaths become more pronounced, shorter but more pronounced. One, two, three, four. The shot zooms in on her, into her; the world becomes her mind. There are neurons shooting electric impulses. Space reshapes itself into minute particles with jumbles- fragments really of thoughts making their way to consciousness. It’s partly chemical, somewhat biological but purely electrifying. She sees everything: The thought process amplified and played out in slow motion inside her head, the minds eye mirroring itself, envisioning itself in a wonderful self-realization far from vanity. Thinking is made visible, seemingly tangible and it is a glorious thing to witness. What once was but a fragment becomes whole as we speed through the circuits, the labyrinthine mazes that zig and zag in the reeling mind, in the folds of the lobes of the mind. Then the whole explodes back into fragments again as it passes through a synapse. Everything is lighting up, flickering in a beautiful chaos. The speed of thought, the light of mental illumination, of enlightenment- electric, eclectic, glorious! One, two, three, four. The fragments fuse into a whole once more and the whole releases itself. Becoming in the moment of epiphany. And then there is silence- a silence that amusingly muffles all the noises, all the wails and panting and exhausting sighs of the birthed idea, a silence that muffles everything into an overwhelming understanding. The feeling causes her to collapse onto her bed. She lands and the impact signals the acceptance of her revelation.
“Eureka” She whispers to herself, her cheek pressing upon the soft, wrinkled sheets, her breath banging against the bed softly, gently. “I am empty.”
That’s her problem. She finally gets it.
