The Mind

It is that one instance when you attempt to clutch at an idea that lies wedged in a crevice of your brain; as you try to maneuver it out to examine more closely, the tongue acts as a crowbar crammed into the fissures of your mind, its violent motion bringing what could be final destruction to other decidedly, at the time, less important thoughts. Like a child reaching to pull a fragile crystal vase off a shelf, with the purest intentions of wonder and awe.

Random states of mind.

The mental image, a savage motion best described as watching a drowning man flail his arms in a desperate attempt to find a handhold. A frantic effort to bring that which is a brilliant flash of light to life, described once by a poet as “A concept, unassisted by the strength of steel or the records of history, as if it were a mountain rent asunder by the sprout of a common weed.” The man, with little vitality remaining, comes closer to shore; completely unaware that swallowing seawater might be fatal.

These are the random states of mind.

You now hold the designs of your being in your hands; the words seem, to you at least, to be effortless. You smile to yourself, feeling rather pleased, completely oblivious to any other notions. Sacrificed to the moment, stillborn blind children that will never live, nor would ever know how much they wanted to. You blurt it out, witnessing the thought float out into the night sky, never to return, never to be taken back. The daft smirk on your face lasts but a second.

“Words are wind”, you hear yourself say as you return to what you were doing.

These are the random states of your mind.