A restless night, too many of us in crisis. I feel myself falling into the flying apart.
My sleepless but drowsy concerns become like Surrealist images where components split apart, twisting in the distance.
A slow-motion spin of walls, wardrobes, kitchen drawers, bits of conversation, kalaidescope of images spanning years, remembered and loosened, geometric and organic, intersplicing in the distances between molecules.
It is a very tidy universe in magnified microcosm despite our messy realities.
Perhaps the holding together doesn't help; perhaps it's time to let go.
What is the mind if unfettered, uncomposed, freed of nervous culture?
No answers came, the warden was banished, the bars fell away.
In the tumbling of synapses firing randomly,
Was I freed?
Did I sleep? Fitfully, in relapses. When I woke the world was its illumined glossy enlightened place where warm sunlight spreads across bedspreads and there are hugs and warmth, French-press coffee and fresh bagels.
The world in its normal motion; everyone, fine.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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wonderfully accurate - buddhist in the way it shows how thoughts arise and fall. But you hit on the experience really well.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Nathan. xo
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