Communication, interacting or experiencing someone through intellectual, is not the same as with the whole of the mind. Feeling in the body, letting their vibe go through you, without control.

It is a daring thing.

Metaphor

'I was authentic' he claimed. Emotions were showing their faces with every word he pronounced. 'This is me, and this is how it is!'.

- 'So tell me, what would happen if it didn't happen?'

'What are you talking about? You do not know what you are talking about! Stop freaking me out! I do not need your mind games!'. He was agitated, to the point where it ate his long sighted awareness.

- 'It all changes, with your awareness. The language, their meanings, the words, the attachment to the feeling u once felt. They are not permanent, and being fixated by them will imprison you.'

'What? Language is common, we all use it and we all know what these words mean! How else would we communicate, how else would I tell you how I feel?!'

- 'Though if I tell you how I feel, will you be able to really feel how I feel? With all the fine sensations it brings, the physical feelings, the qualitative aspect completely subjectively interpreted by myself. Will you know exactly how I feel?'

'Well, I can guess.. If you tell me, I will understand what you mean'

- 'So you will understand the concept of the word which describes my feeling?

'Well.. yes, but no matter, I will be able to see how you feel.'

- 'And tell me, who created this concept? The concept which the word describes?'

'Well... its obvious. Everybody knows what a concept behind a word describes! On the end when I feel something I use a word to explain it... It's quite linear, simple.'

- 'But your feelings aren't linear, they aren't numbers. Do you understand now why we use metaphors? We avoid the faculty of reason and appeal to the emotions inside you. You paint a picture listening to a metaphor and your sensations appear automatically. You don't need to dumb them down. You feel them.That is the beauty of a metaphor.'

Memoirs

My throat was dry, painfully dry, and she was smiling. I rarely saw her smile, but today, it was one of those days. The garden looked wet, even though the sun was shining at its best, at least for this time of the year. I could feel the dampness just by looking at the colourful flowers planted just infront of the small wooden, probably old, patio. The air felt thin. Thin and cold.
Ever since I came here, I felt that the damp has gone into everything: the buildings, the walls, the people... Damp had this effect on things - on people too - to blurry the lines, to weaken the structure, to pervasively deteriorate the foundations. I felt as if this coldness was subtly touching the edges of my existence. I feared for my warmth, having intrinsic resistance towards the local weather. I was fearing that I would lose it over time...

My hands were grabbing for the long green grass, as a walked amidst the green jungle. The grass looked very long and sharp. It had little peas of water stuck on it, remains of the morning mist. The grass was as tall as I was, if not more. My feet were small. Small shoes, wet on the front, from running through the path which existed only in my mind. Somewhere far behind I could hear my parents talking. It felt like summer. A blue radiant sky. Air filled with electricity. I felt life with every breath. I felt alive. Suddenly I stopped, looking down I saw a pond. I gazed into my reflection. I saw a boy. With puffy cheeks and curious eyes. A curious look. For a moment I stopped. Silence. The world went numb. It stopped. No movement. No vibration. It lasted a second. I turned around and screamed for my parents, happily, as if I have discovered some secret treasure. I saw them standing next to the road, leaning on the old blue car. They were dressed in the light white, grey and light blue garment. I started to run towards them, my legs carrying me, led by a cheerful intent...

- So tell me, how do you fancy it here? And while you are answering, would you be so kind to pass me that ashtray right behind you please? - I was teleported back, instantly. It lasted a moment.

- Certainly. - I turned around and grabbed the ashtray - Here you go.

- Thank you - She said, extremely politely, with an almost authentic ease. Yet I picked up, and couldn't ignore, the generic tone, manner and delivery of those 2 simple words.

- Well, in all the honesty, time will tell. It always does...