Is it difficult? Are there thoughts that seep into your subconscious? Do they buzz around like flies in the summer? Do the starbursts behind your eyelids remind you of something long forgotten?
What a terrible thing to have: a mind. What an endless film reel, a scrapbook filled with the faded memories of better days. What torture, to remain awake at night, a haunted house with a single name carved in the wooden door.
What pain, to remain trapped inside yourself, edges slowly fraying, strings slowing snapping. What a horrible fate, to be doomed to think, to watch days pass by and never be mentally prepared, to be slowly unravelling as you try to pull yourself together.
What dismay, when you pack your thoughts into carefully marked boxes only to return and find them scattered upon the floor again. What grief, at the end of a day to seek quiet only to find the clashing of cymbals and the banging of drums inside your head or a busy hive of bees building combs all over your mind.
Clear your mind.
Can you? Are you still and serene? Can you empty yourself of thought and emotion? How blessed you are, for it is a horrible, horrible thing, to have: a mind.
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