Hallucinated Landscapes
One strange feature of my coffee habit has been the spontaneous hallucination of distant landscapes. Shortly after coffee intake—especially so if I am mobile, on a walk, roaming around the wood shop—these landscapes will arise unbidden, daylit—but always varying in the quality of daylight—cinematic, mood altering—perhaps mood generative?—ephemeral, weightless, persistent but lasting no longer than twenty minutes. The locations range over the planet: a bamboo forest just after rain, a river gorge in Oaxaca, the rain-slashed mine-fields of the Golan Heights, a late summer lake in the boreal forest, a glaciated mountain pass in Nepal, the giant hills of northern California vanishing into sea-fog. Some of these places I have visited in real life, some I have not. It is unclear if these hallucinations are a species of nostalgia. They bliss me out: a weird beatitude of hallucinated daylight across environments and topography. I have not had any hallucinations recently; these landscapes do not appear when I am anxious or depressed.
See also:
Imja Khola river, Khumbu Valley, Nepal, 2005
