A Letter of Madness in Thinking
To my dearest Domina Cerebri,
I do not know what you are thinking, but your thoughts scatter like roaches when you turn on the lights.
You must think of them as an endless stream of floating clouds.
Untouchable and free to pass in a timeless fashion, bringing forth all kinds of weather.
Yet, no sense in you keeping a clock nearby. Thoughts will come and go as they please, rushing around frantic through that revolving door in your skull.
Your thoughts will eke out the finest yet the worst of yourself.
They will remind you of how alive you are by plunging you through every emotional tsunami imaginable.
And then to whisper mercifully in your ear when death is close at hand as they begin to ebb and flow like an ocean tide.
But please, do not fret when your thoughts leave you drained, yearning and fussing as a tired child wondering, ‘why am I here?’
Just think.
You are best suited for these notions because they are your own.
You will swiftly realize that they know no bounds.
Your limitless pondering and brooding will lead to a mindful love and hate relationship with your faculties.
