Outside the world is grey and wet. Silver halide skies. Monochromatic hues. The sky a cauldron of depression. And beneath this heavy sky I can hear the stifled screams of the oppressed modern creature.
The rain is dribbling down. Sloshing down the gutters and pipes and running off the roofs and bouncing off the dustbins – tiptap-tiptap-tiptap.
Life is dull and boring.
You feel like asking ‘What is the point?’
Nothing excites you today. Nothing interests you today. Being alive is not what it was a few week ago in the halcyon days of summer sun and delicious blue skies – when life was fantastic! When bluebells would dance and happy bees caress your earlobes and women in dresses twist your heart playfully.
Not today. Today the puddles on the street lie pregnant and naked for heavenly bombardment and the window is studded with water droplets. Like bubbles suspended in amber.
You look out onto the grey monotony, the smudge of charcoal, the black umbrellas, the wet raincoats, the miserable monday morning faces, the prison-cell look of the commuter on the train, and you search for a glimpse of the fantastic. But alas, your heart is not in it. The coffee you are drinking ain’t helping.
In this grey dribbling scene of melancholy summer gloom you find nothing to inspire you. To lift your mood. To transport you elsewhere. To make you feel alive.
But It’s all in the mind is it not? The tedium and greyness and the rain and umbrellas are not really a thing out there, right?
But rather a thing in there? – I point to my skull.
And I begin to wander…
My brain is completely surrounded by my skull. No light gets in there. No light shines on my brain. It is completely enveloped in utter darkness. Isolated from the world. My brain sits there also protected from smells and sounds. No smells directly hit my brain. My brain is sealed in a light tight box.
Yet, it can somehow apprehend the world outside. But let’s be clear. What we see is not actually the world as it really is. It is a model. A model built by the brain. What the world is really like independent of senses is impossible to know. But the skies are not really grey. The sun not really golden. The mood not really sombre. The mood comes from within. Not from without. Which is why drugs work.
And it is not really Monday.
Monday is what we like to call it, but it can be any day you want it to be!
Can I imagine it to be a sunny Saturday then?
Saturday is easy. I can imagine that. But a sunny Saturday? That’s more difficult. It is clearly not sunny today and if I was to say it was then people would say I was hallucinating and need to see a doctor. Or a brain surgeon.
But there is a sense in which it is sunny.
Above the clouds it is ALWAYS sunny…
Above the clouds the sun is always shining, but it just can’t get through…
Mmm, that makes me feel much better. I think I’ll take a walk in the Saturday sun…
…damn, where did I put that umbrella.