Simple minded, No minded, Slow minded

Ever feel like your brain is made of soggy milk-laden cereal bowl of shredded wheat?

soggy brain

That is how my brain feels today. I have been sick... in bed for five days (an eternity for me) and my moods have swung up, down, up, down, low, creeping, scraping, crawling, screaming, meanness. My eyelids are tired, struggling to stay alert. From mush to dried out melba toast has been the consistency of my brain. I have read everything in sight from old book, to new book, to newspaper, and internet article... then TV and tv and more numbing, who-gives-a-care tv.... to only roll back and prop myself up for the next book I pulled from the pile on the floor.

No wonder I get crabby, crappy, get-away-free-me.... words, sentences, thoughts, people, doing, saying, going.

All are moving on the electric escalating path to nowhere. All is vain. Life has no purpose. Isolated. Disconnected. Meaningless.

And how we try to pretend we are something... we have a meaning, a purpose. you know, we are suppose to be important.

But do you think those who have existed, toiled, tried on this spinning but never stopping world of earth really understood their reason. How could we? We are mere mortals. One piece of the all... one soul in the universe. Really, do we matter?

One hundred years from now, one thousand years from now, will anyone care what we ate, wore, did, said, or thought. Is it not truly self-indulgence that we take the time to pour out our guts, to say what comes to mind, to stir the mush and place it in a molded shape hoping maybe when it is baked by passing time that someone will even care. Who are we kidding? Have you ever seen the dumps of words so nicely pressed in straight lines on pages bound by string and covered by ends discarded? I am the odd one that rescues these poor souls of passing thought.... panning for nuggets of meaning, trying to understand from a view I could never have, from a place I have never walked, from a world I could never fully see .... and we act as though we know why, when we were not even there.

Not until you have lived the life of another can you see.

Comments

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