Losing Touch

Losing Touch.

In the pub, the man was staring at his glass of beer, while his mind wandered aimlessly across the dimensionless reality of thought.

All around him, the people were chatting and laughing while sipping their beers.

He didn't feel alone or sad while pondering over the possible, over the endless forms life takes, like shapeless water.

The vessels of life are indefinite and changing, and each vessel contains a piece of indefinite life, and all pieces together form life, ever changing, in time, space and condition.
Yes, condition, that was the other dimension that bestowed so much upon life and fixed it; it included relations which forced commitment; relations between the various pieces of life, and each piece with the material world.
But how can relations shape life? And what is the relation between life and its shape?

These were his thoughts, while the people around him kept on drinking and his beer stared at him, almost frowned.

And what was his relation with the material world? In the mindless thoughtfulness of his virtual wanderings, both people and objects were like distant shapeless shadows. They rebelled against him, claiming recognition, consideration, the due relation.
The people, the furniture and all other objects were but bits of thoughts to him, with a remote relation between themselves, and none with him. In his virtual roaming, he had broken free from engagements, relations and substantiality, transforming first into an idea, then into a wish, and eventually vanishing.

The people in the pub were chatting and laughing while sipping their beers, the saloon was neatly furnished, giving an idea of perfect order; a glass of beer stood lonely on a table.

John John William