I know it has been a while since I’ve taken the time to write here. I apologize for my absence, but life has once again begun swirling about my feet like a whirlwind. Sometimes I wonder if I’m manic. Not seriously, but inquisitively. There will be lulls in my life in which getting out of bed seems as though it is the hardest thing I have to do all day, and I will live for the moment to get back into it, to escape into that non-existent reality of dreams. Other times I feel that there is so much life pushed behind the bars of my ribcage that at any moment my heart may go flying and hurdling through midair as I try to contain all of the dreams and passion coursing through my veins.
I am unstoppable.
My being is an entire beautiful universe that some day an astronaut will make millions learning how to explore. They will write about their discoveries, mostly entailing the vast unearthed space of my brain, that will cover hundreds of huge thousand-page books in hurriedman scrawlings. There will be documents released about the whereabouts of certain planets, the cosmos of my brain entirely new territory, and they will talk about the creation of my being in school, as each brain cell, all of its matter will be undocumented territory. There will be no explanation for the insurmountable desire to unearth all of its mysteries.
There are times where wading through the endless stream of thoughts in my head feels like I am tugging at a drapery that will inevitably pull me into quicksand and the only memory that reminds me that I should be bedpartners with fear is the one that tells me that thereisnogoingback. A voice that says: remember lasttime? You’ll get lost out there somewhere in that vast universe of your infinite mind and never return to reality.
But then I awaken and wonder firmly if I am even in reality. What defines my heart from the vastness of another? I cave into myself daily, feel the pressure of society pulling on each tendon of my body, in different, varied, hurried, painful directions like a vice. I cannot make up my mind sometimes. There are segments I feel that I must discover, today, now, immediately, but somehow the access code to this library of imagination is gone.
Wilderness never felt more beautiful. But I could not be more complete in the feeling of being lost. For months now my compass has been leading me in different paths, so intertwined yet so confusing that I have believed the lie that I was going nowhere. And therefore in comes the feeling of being lost. Am I aimlessly wandering through life, and the only reason I am later discovered is because no one has ever failed at life so miserably? That’s not it. I know it.
God what is this shit I’m writing?
My mind has been swirling about like this for months. Or has it been days that feel like months? I was convinced that taking that trip to California would be good for my insomnia, that I would be so exhausted upon my return that I would have no option but to go to bed like a “normal person”. To crawl under the covers, flip the invisible brain switch off, and pitter patter my eyes into dream land. I caught a cold when I got back that left me so completely drained that I had no choice but to submit my body to the sleep gods. I’m now on the road to feeling better. Last night I even made the attempt to shut off the computer early so that I could try reading to quiet my brain from the hundreds of senseless thoughts like above from thumping around my head like an unwanted ogre. Instead my eager heart wanted only to finish the damn book, not put it down. I willed myself one more page, then turned off the light and closed my shades. And then the thoughts started spilling out around the place that said I was too tired. Thoughts like:
What about tomorrow? Job? What will I say to them? That darn book of poetry seeping out I need to work on. My goals. The future. Children. Marriage.
And the list went on. It’s as though my brain knows, somewhere, that I’m desperately trying to rest and goes on high alert. A joke or something. Instead I spend the hours swirling around recipes for my life, throwing rose petals in the water hoping that the soothing splash will make the lights turn off.
I don’t remember falling asleep last night.
But I do know that the swarm of bees that followed me to bed last night, also followed my waking self today. They always do. At the end of the week the swarm is huge, and I have to take time like tonight, late in the night, to write it all down before something hard and deep inside me breaks. I fear that breaking. Fear that sometime my mind will go completely insane and everything good in my life will walk out and leave me desperate.
The other half of my brain reminds me that some of the greatest writers and composers were clinically insane. Mad. Ill. And that their relationships were crazy, but no one really cared about that, all they cared about was the massive amount of amazing, prolific writing that poured from their endless cranial cavities. So there is hope if I the madness that I know is inside of me decides one day to boil to the surface and expand, volcano like.
I wish I had a more stable blog post to present to you tonight, but my thoughts are everywhere right now. It could be as a result of a lot of things. The fact that I have had my nose stuck in one of the most amazing books, unable to resurface my brain from the ideas that are trembling within the pages. The notable curiosity that I managed to go so long without writing at all, here or most anywhere else, to let those rumbling thoughts out before they burst through my sternum and let my heart be splayed along the gravelstone like an archeologist’s dream display of beauty. Or is it the fact that somehow, I feel as though my head is constantly in a confused state of “Inception” wondering where dreams end and reality begins and if I could find that beautiful red cord that ties us all together what would I do with it? I do not know the answer to life’s questions. I can only come up with more.