The problem with being a transcendent thinker is that your world is painted in a wide array of colors, none of them earthly.
I've encountered this problem most of my life. As of late, it seems to have doubled. I can count on two hands (if I'm lucky) the amount of times that people outside of my closest circle have been able to understand my train of thought. Sometimes, those IN my closest circle fail to grasp their depth.
When I'm told of a situation, of a problem or even a story, my mind immediate analyzes the core of said circumstance then attempts to process the future ramifications.
I find that I have a sort of "Butterfly Effect" mentality. The Butterfly Effect is a theory which implies that a butterfly flapping it's wings halfway across the world, several weeks earlier, could potentially cause a hurricane in China.
When some people look at Ancient Egyptian Pyramids, they think of the beauty. Perhaps, how old they are, and even want to go inside them, or climb them.
I, on the other hand, consider the cutler from which they stemmed, the enigma of their history, the otherworldly facets that I believe played a part in their existence. I think of the people who enjoyed them, and used them. I think of the history and the science, down to a molecular level. My mind reels into places, spaces, colors, aromas, and shapes that many cannot see. All of my senses—the 5 physical ones, and the 1 metaphysical sense—tingle with tangible excitement as my mind probes the possibilities, plausibility, and probabilities. It truly is a supernatural experience. I would go so far as to say, that's it's much like a religious experience.
My mind is highly visual and very hypersensitive to certain factors. Therefore, I think deeply, profoundly and consummately.
I often consider Einstein's thought experiments. I've come to realize that had I had the ability—more so in time than competence—I might be one to embark on such things. I envy that life hasn't offered me the time and space to do so. I regularly feel restrained, as if living in a box from which there is no escaping. It's constricting and suffocating.
But, that's a whole other story for another day.
Today, I was steady thinking about people and how generally I'm unable to have intellectual and philosophical conversations with them. My biggest dilemma is that I've come across many a person whom professes to be on the same mental level as I, yet once they open their mouth, I find that they are not. It's saddening.
You see, I am not claiming to be the most intelligent person on earth. I know that I am not. There are people that are by far more intelligent. What I do know about myself is that I am a ethereal thinker, and a visionary. When you add that to my curiosity, hunger for knowledge and desire of discovery, you find that my mental aptitude is ... well, I don't want to say higher, but I will say, more avant-garde. Unconventional.
I'm reminded of a character that I created for a free short story that I wrote. I find that she is me. I relate to her more than words can say. Her name? Camielle. Her story? Camielle's Lights.
Camielle never quite fit in. Her whole life she’s been nothing but a fly in a glass of milk—never quite coinciding with everyone and everything around her. Until, the unexpected happens. An amazing array of lights covers the New York skies, and the world is taken aback. What were these lights? Where did they come from? The answers evade even the most intelligent of people. However, to Camielle the lights were the least of the problem.
Written in the semblance of Vintage 1960’s Sci-Fi, take a small trip with Camielle as she finds out what the lights really mean.
We first find Camielle looking at people whilst the very same people that she is scrutinizing are gazing at an anomaly in the sky. Humanity is preoccupied with what's going on around them, but Camielle's biggest concern is why they are acting the way that they are. The inner workings of the human mind is what entices Camielle. Not necessarily the mechanics therein, but the fundamental cognition.
Why? Why has always been the question that has plagued Camielle, even at her young age. Then, unwillingly, the why morphs into the what, then how, then when and then who.
Camielle realizes that the human mind is an enigma, yet she also know that it's a labyrinth that most never traverse in a lifetime. That's what makes Camielle so special. Later on she discovers that there's a reason why her brain works differently than other peoples.
Here is an excerpt:
Wispy ringlets danced in the sky in a million different colors—some unrecognizable. Soft blue and majestic puffy cotton-balls filled the space behind it. A backdrop of celestial azure with a rainbow of circles aplenty curtaining atop. A single sphere of bright light swayed to and fro above it. A luminescent orb with a life of its own.
Eyes lucidly followed the orb and gazes became hypnotized by the labyrinthine magic of the lights. What was it? Never in written history did anyone ever witness the likes of this, and never would they in years to come. A once in a lifetime event for those lucky enough to see its splendor.
Camielle wasn't paying much mind to the lights like all the others; her mind was fixed on the multitudes' reactions to the unknown. While some were amazed and enamored by the lights, the others watched in fear—the uncharted always caused fear. Such an unusual thing, the human mind, Camielle surmised.
For a girl of such a young age—only having just turned eight—these questions and thoughts would be peculiar. Yet for Camielle, it was nothing short of an everyday thought. She never was much like all the rest. Never quite fit in.
As she watched the splendiferous beams lull in the air, Camielle strolled through the crowd in Central Park, occasionally touching a strangers hand just to see if they would react. No one even so much as noticed her. What, she thought, is so curious about lights in the sky? They're just lights. Furthermore, she pondered on the fact that people should be more concerned about what was causing this marvelous aurora of romping colors. That, in her little mind seemed to be of greater concern.
Was it the end of the world? The Armageddon? Was it some sort of military attack? Was it coming from somewhere else entirely?
What a petty thing, she mused. To be awe-stricken at some colors in the sky without any real concern as to where they were coming from.
Camielle was a bit of an odd-looking child—extremely pretty, but odd nonetheless. Her hair was two tones of brown; a lighter shade and a darker shade. It was neither curly, nor wavy, but sat somewhere in between the two textures. Stringy actually.
Her skin was a bit paler than most, if you looked close enough, you could see the semblance of greenish tones. Not like the ever-coveted olive green that some Europeans contained, but a pale green, reminiscent of regurgitation. Thankfully, her Caucasian skin masked the subfusc green well.
Her eyes were enormous and brown—matching her hair. Children at school consistently teased her over it. Cow-eyed Cammy, they'd call her. Yet, Camielle being of such a mature mind, ignored them.
She was thin. Thinner than most of the girls in her class. Her arms were long and wiry, as were her legs. Unfortunately for her, the poor girl was ill-proportioned. These were the reasons that she was always the misfit—the outcast.
Once again, these things did not bother her. She was content with being who she was. The world around her was of little to no consequence. The only thing that mattered to her about the group that surrounded her was their psyche. How could a Species so advanced—especially in comparison to all of the other species on earth—be such Neanderthals?
Camielle finally looked up at the transcendent lights in the sky and the orb that commanded them, like a Conductor of an orchestra. She supposed that they were lovely after all. Truly, she'd never seen anything like them. So, content with her analysis of mankind for the day, she too began to bask in the sublime ensemble. For different reasons than most, but enjoyed them despite the contrary.
After admiring the empyrean heavens for some three minutes or so, Camielle moved forward. It was time to find something else to stimulate her cerebrum. A mind like hers was something of a sponge and a glutton. It absorbed everything and craved more. Nothing kept her attention for too long, as everything obtained her engrossment—if that made any sense.