Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. - Marilyn
Monroe

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

monster mind

I called you a monster this morning and I meant it. So go home monster because you're in my head. You're in my words. You're in my prayers. My pillow turns to stone when you don't leave me alone.

Today I felt like something divine joined me in my office as I gave myself some down time to reflect. I was looking at the walls pretending the walls were listening. Maybe they do, listen. If only the walls could talk. The decorative fixtures made my eyes move waywardly. The knick knacks, the green and yellow galore. It makes me smile. Then... a transcendent moment of observing with my eyes closed took presence as though it was standing between me and those decorative walls. It felt like an angel blew her breath across my arms. Goosebumps, but for just a brief moment.

Then my head spins and the spinning is loud like a rusty old marry-go-round on a grassy dune, but the grass needs watering. She spins with the wind, not with a child because she's old and won't be bothered. But she's not old enough. A child's freedom could be a good thing for her nuts and bolts. Make her remember, oh youthful spirit, how to be free the way you are and how to run the way you run. Because a child doesn't run... away. A child runs a different way.

A sudden breeze inside my head and she squeals. I get a migraine. When she stops twisting in circles making me dizzy again, she runs like a rabbit -- hopping but not too high. Only high enough to irrupt like a volcano. Down pours the obsidian -- the hot lava my temper perspires. She's a bunny. She's a volcano. She's whatever I want her to be. My mind is my inception, an opening.

She's my birth. I can react and die a little or I can react and live a little more...

She often recoils inciting a marathon and I have to run for miles and miles. Chasing her for days. For years. That crazy rabbit. She won't stop running away. And by the way... Tricks are for kids! But are they though? I'm tricked more than I ever was as a child, running in a mental and emotional contest. Hopping, jumping. This way that way. Not sure about the future. I get tired. Fortunately her shoes are neon colored, making her easy to catch in the dark. And when I don't catch her I wonder who I am. When my own mind has forsaken me in her neon colored shoes, who do I become?

I become who I really am.

So, then what stands between us? A prayer. A plead. Please Monster... go home! She's a rabbit. She's a volcano. She's a runner in neon shoes. She's a monster.  Without my monster marbles and reasoning - my wits, thoughts and confusion, I'm unfamiliar... and it's really quiet. And it's a beautiful thing. And I didn't even have to pay someone. But, I'm used to her song. I'm a musician. I'm used to the music. But her orchestra is confused. She's dazed but marvelous. Her symphony is perfect for something dramatic. So, please Monster... go dance! Go sing. Go heal.

Because music is not music without the dance.

Just let it go in those neon shoes. Go waltz amongst the ash that your volcanic temper gave life to. You give life to death. Ashes to ashes. Hop away from me now because without you I'm free. Without you I'm still. I'm still waiting for you to return to me. When I send you home I'm peaceful. But I still need you. So please monster. Go home! Come back when you're older. Return to me when I'm younger. Because if we're going to do this thing together... we need to do it better. Forever.


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