Chessie
Community Member
- MBTI
- INfJ
Tonight I was watching My Dinner With Andre. Now, this is a very dry movie about two men sitting at a dinner table eating a fantastic rich meal and conversing on every topic under the sun.
One of them is a fairly stark and depressed humanist and the other is an oppressively expressive surrealist both rooting around in what they perceive as the darkness of living for a real sense of purpose. A part of their discussion revolved around the Buddhist monk's propensity to eat a meal very slowly so that a person experiences each bite.
I was drinking a glass of water at the time this was playing and set it on my desk. As Andre mentioned this I became vividly aware of the liquid in my mouth. I held it on my tongue. It tasted amazing. A mixture of chemicals, my own mouth, the flavors of air in my nose.
I swallowed it as quickly as I could lest I be overwhelmed. It was far too emotional an experience. My cheeks felt suddenly hot. Too hot to touch. The fan blowing on my flesh felt like a tornado whipping me away. For a moment I was poor Dorothy Gail, that sad child of Kansas, being stolen home and all to be whisked away to a foreign land where everything was in colour.
It was too much. I found myself forcing myself back to the greyness of non-experience. If I hadn't I fear my rational being might have escaped and I'd have slashed open my thighs with a hunting knife to experience the lava flow pumping through my veins.
Now I find myself afraid to dip my toe back into that state of being. A bit of chocolate could become an orgasm. A kiss might be the breath of God.
Knowing madness lays that way...I crave it, like a junkie craves her junk. What am I to do?
One of them is a fairly stark and depressed humanist and the other is an oppressively expressive surrealist both rooting around in what they perceive as the darkness of living for a real sense of purpose. A part of their discussion revolved around the Buddhist monk's propensity to eat a meal very slowly so that a person experiences each bite.
I was drinking a glass of water at the time this was playing and set it on my desk. As Andre mentioned this I became vividly aware of the liquid in my mouth. I held it on my tongue. It tasted amazing. A mixture of chemicals, my own mouth, the flavors of air in my nose.
I swallowed it as quickly as I could lest I be overwhelmed. It was far too emotional an experience. My cheeks felt suddenly hot. Too hot to touch. The fan blowing on my flesh felt like a tornado whipping me away. For a moment I was poor Dorothy Gail, that sad child of Kansas, being stolen home and all to be whisked away to a foreign land where everything was in colour.
It was too much. I found myself forcing myself back to the greyness of non-experience. If I hadn't I fear my rational being might have escaped and I'd have slashed open my thighs with a hunting knife to experience the lava flow pumping through my veins.
Now I find myself afraid to dip my toe back into that state of being. A bit of chocolate could become an orgasm. A kiss might be the breath of God.
Knowing madness lays that way...I crave it, like a junkie craves her junk. What am I to do?