My Corpus Callosum

Dear Cassius L. Carmine,

“You spent the greater part of your youth aiming to earn your medical doctorate and to add degree after degree of accomplishments, accolades, and Ph. Ds to your ever-growing resumé. In all honesty, I am a fan, and as many are, I am humbled by your work. When I learned you had published a book, I went to buy it immediately. But I was surprised to find it wasn’t scientific, but a young adult novel. Nonetheless, I bought it under the pretense of my own burning curiosity. It was phenomenal. However, the person who wrote that book was not the same as the person who wrote the scientific articles I cherished most in each publishing. Seeing your name on the cover of that book and realizing that it was the same as my ideal standard for academic prowess, confused me so much that I was influenced to write this very letter. And while I am unsure if you will read this, I must ask. Between the esteemed, sensible doctor and illustrious romantic with an inclination to the profound— which are you?”

This is an excerpt of the very first letter you sent to me. But among the praise, I acknowledged your overlying question. And truly, I must confess I was taken aback by the unmatched precision with which your ask struck my core. 

And if I am unclear in just how much, I would implore you to recognize that your letter is the only one I felt a compelling need to respond to. And it is your question that I will answer. Although, the reminiscence is- admittedly- quite long.

This is a written annotation explaining my greatest strength and most personal autobiographical record. This is the story of the decade long hiatus of my brain’s right hemisphere… ”

A day in my brain, or perhaps more accurately, a day in my mind- defines the enigma of coexisting contradiction. It is within a mess of indistinguishable qualities that I realize the limits by which I refuse to reside. That I am not one book, but an extensive index to a library of possibilities. In mundane terms, I suppose I would be called “well-rounded”, or perhaps, a “jack of all trades” if you will. When faced with trying events, I manage to invent new means of resourcefulness. And when involved socially, different people extract different sides of the person I’ve now learned to identify as myself. As I walk through each day, each month, each year, I pull at each index reference and exist in the new persona as if I had lived it every moment I had ever breathed. And perhaps these occurrences can be simplified into the inevitable processes of learning with age. But in my casual, ongoing conversation with the arcane character “Life”, I feel as if I am reborn to each interaction in one of two entities: Logical or Artistic. 

My Logical world is black and white. I can theorize the quantities of emotional outputs into tangible secretions of hormones that produce varying, functional imbalances. Love, sadness, lust, anxiety— each one can be attributed to a chemical response. In situations of practicality, I am very comprehensive. I identify a place and I can maintain it. And that is the “esteemed, sensible doctor” side of me.

But in the same Logical being, exists a dreamer— my Artistic mind. In the same brain space, there lives an artist that craves the biting press of a brush and the slanted loops of cursive lettering. A being that craves words, paintings, operatic notes, and bold strokes— all while chasing a blind belief in a certain internal flame: creativity. And this is the “illustrious romantic with an inclination to the profound”, the author of that young adult novel, and somehow, still me. Just not the one you know.

I can never bring myself to believe that inspiration is a science, to me, it’s a feeling. In the same sense, I am also unable to concede that there is no science capable of explaining such impulses. This leaves me at my lifelong impasse at the edge of feelings and science. The place I must allow my mind to slip into blank chaos. And in this world- in my world- where all lines cross and all tangents meet, I find it is this blind faith that keeps me balanced atop a thin bond challenging the pull of singularity. And the knowledge that a fall would mean losing half of myself while plummeting into the abyss. 

And that remains to be, as the Logical and Artistic can continue to coexist, but not coincide. Like yin and yang energies, they are dueling, contrary forces; semblances of dualism that appear stark in contrast, like oil and water. When in actuality, they have the ability to complement the other— like a compatible bio-grafting agent. Like two souls to one body. Each can take control, while the other can only exact external influence. But it is through me, that they are intertwined.

And I call this sustaining, albeit “thin” bond “corpus callosum”. While I’m sure you are aware, it is a scientific reference to the cluster of neurons that connects the opposing left and right cerebral hemispheres of the brain. The left hemisphere is sequential, analytical, and focused on the facts. While the right hemisphere is intuitive, holistically creative, and emotionally diversified. And my bond is my corpus callosum. Corpus callosum, the bridge between the two halves and a scale, in which no attribute is unmeasured.

My Logical brain fell in love with science, language, and knowledge at a young age. Faithful Freudian psychoanalysts may attribute this to my adept family, filled to the brim with scientists of all sorts. And while I can’t argue the definite probability, I can attest to finding interest. Certainly interest enough to take the most diverse array of classes. 

My class schedule was always full, and I never had room for art classes in between every possible aspect of science. But I could never say in earnest that my inner flame and Artistic brain abandoned me at that time. If anything, they adapted. So much so, that I always found my favorite sciences were the ones I could analyze “artistically”. 

In Advanced Placement Computer Science, I followed the trial and error process with variables the same way a composer incites a symphony. Every paragraph of code equated a stanza of music in staff. Each new variable was a new instrument, and each new object among the GUI was a jazz solo. Completing a program provided the same heart-racing feeling of seeing a conductor ending a thrilling piece with a finalesque wave of the arms. 

Advanced Placement Biology, I experimented with the laws of reality. I grafted multiple plants to a single root, growing two flowers from the same stem, taking advantage of the original sculpting agents of nature. Every anatomical and biological process was painted across my brain in the form of entrancing visuals. My most effective learning process has always been visual-spatial. The sketches I crafted in place of words spoke volumes more than bulleted notes ever could. And it was in each picture that I could analyze the purpose behind structures at cellular levels and repetitive cycles of life. The human body is a sculpture too, where every bone, muscle, and organ has a place. And each one paints the exterior image. And so it continued.

I wrote ascending stories of the universe in the births of stars. I pieced together the mathematical patterns existing in physics to predict each outcome well before the math could translate from the tips of my fingers. Graphs and data tables became expressions of discovery just as much as fact. The geography of humans was so psychologically dependent and logical, yet food, language, and culture themselves were the studies of art. And when these musings weren’t enough, I spilled my Artistic desires into the margins of essay papers and expanses of white space in packets. Unleashing the mediums of writing and sketching through splotches of ink and graphite. Even now, I find that very few of my original manuscripts are without hand-drawn diagrams. Although, they are much more meticulously detailed after being processed through the mandatory bells and whistles of computer rendering. But to maintain my original point, I must reemphasize that only one can exist at full capacity at any time.

For the ten years in which I pursued my life in science, I allowed my Logical brain to take over. And expunged the compulsory, suppression of my Artistic self through unparalleled surgeries and seemingly complex analyses. Sometimes, I wonder if I am better or worse off for having such a mind. It’s difficult for me to validate my successes. It never feels like enough. But at the same time, the complementary nature of my Artistic being is the only way I can manage to excel in my position now. 

Writing a book based on romance after so many years was relieving of sorts. The experience was overwhelming, like opening a dam gate under the pressure of ten years. Perhaps my resulting illustriousness was enough to cover my framework. At least, to those who weren't looking for it. Writing is an undervalued science in itself, you know. But it’s the type of less measurable soft science that most scientists scoff at, like psychology. Yet I can never be convinced of it being otherwise. 

The same way my Artistic brain complements the Logical, it happened in this fictional book, but vice versa. Through that aspect of myself, I was able to calculate the effective pungency of my words and optimize the efficacy of every thought. It is a well-thought, complex calculation that binds sentences together to form a story. The only reason you found it “phenomenal”, is because it followed a formula. And luckily for me, it just so happens you were responsive to it. It’s like any recipe, concoction, or chemical formula; somewhere in between the art, the madness, and the science, there is an expected outcome. You can run the experiment as many times as you’d like with books. Only the product is dependent on your ability to implement the elements for the reaction. 

Perhaps in metaphor alone, it’s my “corpus callosum” that holds me in between the two entities. Long-withstanding theory has maintained that all humans are dominant in one side: to be identified as predominantly “left-brained” or “right-brained”. At best, it’s a subculture of science that has managed to divide people by their less visible qualities. I maintain that the brain is a complex organism. An organism left unexplored and currently recognized at a distance similar to our perceptions of intergalactic space: obscure, revered, yet unknown. But it can always be rationalized into derision between these two equal halves. 

I am unsure just how well I was able to advocate the inner workings of my mind. And in my current scientific capacity, I am incapable of explaining the “how” of this to you. So I can only allow you the room for your own leap of faith. I can not tell you how your brain works, but I can assure you that there is a science to faith as there is faith in science. They are equal in the belief that outcomes are replicable, constant, and strong.

Similarly to my bond, faith is the adjoining link that extends into space where we have not built in the respective science.

You asked me "which" version of myself wrote my most recent novel. And I would have to say, that is a most excellent question.

If you find yourself reading it again to find out— you tell me.

Sincerely,

DDr. A. Thomas, Ph. D