Recollected memory is subject to a host of ancient inaccuracies, where psychoactive crises are currently attributed to ghosts of a distant netherworld.
Have you ever wrapped your hands around the power of a train as it meanders down the tracks of contemplation into the distance of realisation? How loud is the scream of the butterfly?
I fully appreciate that there is a difference between visual and auditory senses, even though one may see with their ears and hear with their eyes.
Can you taste the classical mantras of sanskritic language where vedic chants find solace in the bridge of the sitar?
How phenomenological! I can feel your trembling pulse, my antiquarian partner of contemporary lusts.