6th Sense

“A person cannot run and also learn. He must stay in one place for a while.”

― Robert Fisher, The Knight in Rusty Armor

Socrates believed humans had all the answers to life and its truths already coded into their soul. In the process of inductive reasoning, a person would be able to reach these truths within and answer any question. The human soul had this life for the purpose of pilgrimaging until it learned the truth of all Forms, or rather until one re-discovered these truths as they laid hidden outside the cave of mortality.

My input into this world is directly dependent of the input I receive out of it. I touch, see, hear, smell and taste the world around me, and as I do I lose myself in my mind and analyzing these five senses. As such, my thoughts become perhaps the weakest yet most important of my senses.

I could live my day lost in my five senses, simply allowing touch, sight, taste, smell and hearing to rule my every move.

I walk to get my coffee in the morning, and run my hands through the asperous walls of the buildings as I pass by.

I wipe on my coarse denim jeans the sticky silk of the spider webs I accidentally run my hands through.

I reach the coffee place and disinfect my hands with the viscous sanitizer, and order my two drinks.

I pass my time drawing figures with the tip of my fingers on the smooth surface of the bar where orders get placed when done.

I draw figures through every protuberance, undulation, and indentation of the bar, finding every imperfection I can while I wait for my drinks.

I burn my lips with the all-too-quick first sip of coffee in the morning, and I feel the sting of cold iced water on my teeth in subsequent rescue sips.

I walk out the coffee shop, and work my day until I walk out of work.

I spend an arduous day of stepping in and out of rooms and buildings.

I set my sight on the sunrays that wash over the side of buildings as it begins to dawn.

I see these rays overshadow the work of many a painter, as the hues tint the walls all shades of orange, pink and yellow.

I see the shadows of these buildings be a refuge for a kid's long day out (or in).

I see the picture of a set brown, and orange wings of a monarch butterfly painted over a window of a business.

I search for a picture on my phone of a rosy maple moth (dryocampa), with its... well, rosy and maple colored wings.

The sight of maple moths trigger a craving in my head that insist that I stop for a candy on my way home.

I'm not one to have a sweet tooth on any particular case, and after stuffing a milk chocolate filled with caramel in my mouth, I begin to regret it and crave another snack right away.

I walk back to the store to pick a sour candy, but in fear that the mix of treats upsets my stomach, I head back further to the coffee shop to get myself a taste a bit more bitter.

Bitterness sits more kindly on my tongue than sweetness ever does.

The smell off coffee immediately announces the location of the nearest shop, in case I had forgotten the all so familiar place, or in case I had to reach it with my eyes closed.

The coffee beans inside the cups in fragrance shops don't hit quite as close to home as a freshly brewed cup does.

There's always those kinds of smells that immediately transport you to a place that might be near and dear to you.

The opposite is true of course.

The smell of burnt wax always takes me back to the day I almost suffocated myself by falling asleep in a room full of candles and little ventilation.

The smell of warm light-beer always brings back memories of a friend long past.

The smell of whisky always brings back memories of the days that followed this event.

If home is where the heart is, though, I'd find myself submerging the entirety of my face within an old book to catch a big whiff off of it.

Home is the smell of cut wood on a summer day, and the smell of charcoal grills over laughter and gossip is the smell of my community.

The smell of tranquility is that of the dirt outside as it rains.

Another indication of a peaceful evening is the sound of the drops as they fall on the patio.

The chirping of the birds will forever be the signal that I forgot to go to sleep and just spent my whole night doing whatever I tend to spend the entirety of my nights doing.

The barking of my dog is the alarm I need to go check the outside windows, as I might have a visitor or an intruder and I have to greet either one.

The song in a game or movie will indicate the general ambiance of the scene.

The sound of a specific instrument in a scene will forever accompany my heart in the scenes of loss and joy.

Amidst all of this lies the sixth of my senses:

My sense of introspection.

I doubt myself before I place my hands on any particular surface.

Will it be dirty? Will I remember to rid my skin of germs?

I admire the scene that sunrays paint for me, though I understand none is painted for me in particular.

I catch myself wondering what my next snack or meal will taste like, and begin to wonder why I'm so skinny still, descending into a pit of insecurities.

I allow my mind to drift off with the myriad of smells that surround my walks, and my life at home. My memory takes a hold of many of my minutes a day, as my sense of smell seems like the strongest of the other five.

I attempt to drown the excess of thoughts as they drift into the shore of my foremind with the volume of my music.

Am I a mind inside a body, or a body with a mind?

If my soul contains all the answers to everything, why does it always feel like my head takes the better and most significant parts of my life?