The Thinking Curse Has A Cure
There's a dry spell on the cure for this curse of mine, leaving me to wallow and squirm amid the mash of mental barb-wire strung like razor sharp silk fibers of hyperactive spiders spinning webs so complex and thick I can't tell beginning from end. Every string is a thought, every contemplation a knot, tying up my capacity for compassion and cutting into the bandwidth of my brain to the brink of overload.
An overload that never happens.
It's just another tipping point over the crest of considerations adding weight to the momentum of electrical impulses igniting the grey matter of my mind like a lightning storm charged by aqueducts of consciousness which always flow. Pouring out waves to ride and tsunami's to drown in.
Rivers of reflection that grip me like an undertow with infinite currents of every depth in all directions, ripping the circuits of my cranium asunder; a p a r t but together like a flock of geese flying south for the winter, only there's no escape from the snowflakes that make up the blizzard frosting my neural network. This cold is like inertial dampeners but for my emotions, numbing them enough to keep the synapses firing without overheating on the elements of my heart.
This is the thinking curse that invades like an infection invasive enough to pierce my soul and stun my moral compass-- but there is a cure.
A cure that works for me in ways I struggle to explain.
It calms my brain, slows the spiders spinning the fibers that make up my thoughts, so there aren't so many. With fewer knots of contemplation, the chaos unravels into more open space to ventilate, to feel. It turns the blizzard to rain and makes me feel sane again; capable and able to embrace my emotions as much as my mind.
The cure for this thinking curse of mine is illegal in my Country with the exception of a few of its States, yet not the one with which I live. So, to procure it (or grow it) would make me criminal.
Damned if I do and damned if I don't.
The thinking curse has a cure.
|| another_proser ||