Problems in navigating the topographical model

Into the depths of some delirium I walked from conscious thought to a garden of unreason, which was blooming with flowers enthralled in an orgy of cross pollination. The simplicity of the act of stepping over this threshold was disconcerting since I'd been clawing at the walls of conscious thought for years, in search of this sticky eden. Now here I was, with furrowed brow and eyes pitched to the sky, right thumb pressing into the little niche on the underside of my jaw, left hand cupping my elbow, weight shifting to my right leg, left foot making its own magic in a radius of thoughtless movement. All around me, the garden was throbbing with life. Species I didn't recognise were turning animate in the corner of my eye and beckoning me deeper into the verdure. I was pegged to my place, two and half steps into paradise, which this place clearly was, absorbed in thoughts that I had brought with me from a previous life. I was sure that the moment of passage must have taken place somewhere, there must have been a transition from there to here. All I recalled was a bright, white light of unknowing. From conscious thought, through unknowing into unreason. It could have made sense, though that did not count for much. And would I find my way back? I was sure I did not make my way by intoxication, hypnosis or reverie, but rather by putting one foot in front of the other. The garden grew impatient with me; green tendrils began creeping up my bare legs and constricting around my shins. There was nothing threatening about this place, since there was no clear causality to which I should pay heed. I felt an impulse to pure action, which was something I could not have taken seriously back in the realm of conscious thought. Pure action began with letting go of my chin, letting my thumb dribble down my chest, down my sternum and around the bend of my spare rib.

Problems in navigating the topographical model

Pure action continued with a long sigh and my knees gave way to the green. I collapsed onto my belly, lying in a variety of long grasses. I smelled the sweet, wet earth of unreason and spoke two words I had brought with me, "Thank you.” At that very moment, the white flashed around me again and I was back to conscious thought, lying in my local supermarket as a customer stepped gingerly over my trembling legs. The place was quite empty, it was early morning and the tills were not open yet, we were all browsing. Next to me was a large, glass vitrine in which herbs were quivering under incandescent lights. I deciphered some names from tags reflected in the glass: Bordeaux Basil, Green Mint, Scarlet Kale. When I stood up, I came face-to-face with a miniature meadow, which swayed knowingly behind the protection of a double-glazed pane, bidding me a happy farewell in the furnace of reason.