This morning, when it was still dark and the room was lit by candles, I picked up my coffee mug. I like my coffee strong and bold, and I took a drink, but it tasted like a peach.
I felt like I had taken a sip of an entire peach, bitter and fuzzy.
And I realized the peach is a wormhole.
There are times when we taste something, even if it’s something we eat often, a cheesy cracker, a donut, and for some reason and for only a flash our brain tells us that we’re tasting something entirely different. We might take a bite from a chocolate bar, but for a pop not-even-a-second we taste broccoli.
We usually ignore these moments, shift our focus back to “reality,” and the next bite tastes like a chocolate bar, like it’s supposed to.
These are seemingly meaningless moments of life.
But perhaps when those moments come, if I allow my imagination to play with the idea that there is a reason why my coffee tastes like a peach, I might be able to see other slices of reality.
I’m not only experiencing the thing in front of me, the coffee, but my neural network is lighting up all over my brain, moving around like an aerial view of LA freeways.
Other tastes are evoked in my memory, other flavors linked to emotional experiences throughout my life.
When my coffee tastes like a peach, all times of my life from birth to death come together.
The peach is a wormhole, and it allows me to time travel.
Dare I eat one?