My mind turns, twists, moves and churns. Earthquakes of urgent thoughts turn into raging thought tsunamis.
It’s not what isn ‘t. It’s what is.
What’s isn’t, isn’t talked about. What is, is.
Raging waters flow uphill, gather speed, then dribble down the mind’s mountainside spilling into the deepest depths, depths that do not surrender the issues of thought, whether forgotten or taught, surrendered or caught, given or bought.
Words sound large, but quiet speaks loud. Its silence heals. The healing rest, the energizing of silence slips away in our loud, boisterous, information-based system of living. Yet the need to be still and hear the leaves rustle remains, even when it’s pushed aside.
Instant news images, the suffocating buzz of cell phones, the constant push for more, more now, more stimulation, more information to give the brain’s attention numbs the nerves to the essence of real life.
It’s like the irony of an organ recipient who has a giving gift inside. The very thing that keeps the whole body alive is the same thing the body attacks, trying reject and rid itself of a foreign object, albeit life giving.
My thoughts crash, pound the rock of the mind and chisel new structures, smoothing the jagged ones.
Introverts today have a harder time being alone than ever before. Yet 7.9 billion people live on the face of the earth, and there’s never been a time where so many are so alone.
How can it be? Where can you go to escape the lights of man, the noise our time, the technology of our day?
The constant drain of life-giving solitude is deafening, defeating, draining blood from the veins of peace, and breath from the lungs of contentment.
It’s exhausting. Really. Exhausting.
The alarm clock rings early. It keeps ringing. Pushing buttons of a busy schedule keeps the brain moving in breakneck speed as time steadily slips away.
Twelve hours later the sun goes down, but the alarm clock still rings.
Even sitting still, a restless knee bounces up and down, up and down, trying to release pent up energy, emotion, stress.
All the while, the steady ticking of the clock seemingly speeds up faster and faster than the brain’s ability to rid itself of an adrenaline push.
Peace flies away on the tail of a kite dancing in the wind. Higher and higher it goes as the string slips through a child’s small, chubby fingers, yet there he stands, in total awe of the kite’s flight.
Who sped up the earth’s rotation and made this day go so fast?
Tomorrow will be the same.
Rush. Hurry. Wait.
Go, now. Now, stop.
Run, patiently. Sit, fast.
I need to pull this kite string back in close. The morning alarm is about to ring, again.