I pour tea from my favorite red poppy teapot. As I do, my brain creates electronic connections between cells that revive memories of other hot fragrant cups of tea, the sound of my friend’s voice as she bargained for the teapot in the Turkish market, and the sight of Wells Cathedral from an English tea house that wouldn't sell me their poppy-painted pot.
A connection like this is called a synapse. It is the completion of the impulse from a neurotransmitter in my brain sending information to a receptor cell. Every connection is cellular, that is physical, and sensory, and can be emotional and intellectual. Our brains are multi-lane highways and rutted lanes and overpasses of synapses -- but as I understand them, no dead ends.
If there were no connections to engrave actions on my brain, I’d have to relearn every skill repeatedly. If I couldn’t connect the consequences of decisions to the leading events, I’d be doomed to repeat mistakes. And if my brain didn’t organize my albums of sight and sound, taste and touch and join them to aromas, I wouldn’t be able to link the layers of my memories. The connections overlay life with meaning.
Sometimes I am aware of the layers, and the insights that come from the connections.
In that synaptic space, I sing with joy and thanksgiving at the miracle of them.