My mind as a radio receiver

What makes me think what I think? Where do the images that appear in my mind come from? A lady with round sunglasses waiting for someone on a French village square, a gentleman with a fedora and his hands in his pockets standing in front of a harbor, three girls, one in a bright red skirt, running along a path in the woods. They all come up in my mind in the span of forty seconds. But I have never seen these people, not even in a film or magazine, and I have never been to these places.

 

Thoughts just pop up. In the shower, walking the dog and, above all, in those moments just before falling asleep, or in the split second after waking up, in that half-conscious state, not yet guiding my thoughts toward yesterday's conversation or the doctor's appointment I keep putting off. I didn't look for these thoughts; I didn't choose them. They simply appeared.

 

In a podcast about consciousness, I heard a neuroscientist say that it takes four seconds for a thought to travel from the unconscious into consciousness. I imagine the unconscious as a factory with thoughts struggling to make it to the spotlight. Apparently, only some make it that far. But why do completely trivial and pointless things, like what Madonna had for breakfast, get through?

 

Another scientist argues that consciousness is a universal field that precedes matter. The mind is an antenna, a radio receiver tuning into one channel while countless others remain available.

 

I take in these different opinions, thoughts emerging from the mind, thoughts beamed in from the universe, but I feel no urge to subscribe to any of them.

 

Still, the radio idea does appeal to me — it makes me think of the time as a young boy when I spent hours listening to Droitwich, Podebrady, Teheran and Ankara on my black transistor radio. It was exciting to listen to voices from far-away places. Not understanding the languages they spoke made it even more appealing because I could imagine what they said.

 

I'm not sure there is anything that makes me feel more alive than to experience the same sense of wonder I had as a young boy. My mind as a radio receiver, old-fashioned and slightly battered, tuning into frequencies I never knew existed — that thought alone is enough to make me want to get out of bed in the morning.