Relative Delirium & In-body Experiences
- Inside my head
Feeling all ten of my toes tucked, under the two southernmost corners of my bed sheet was the last conscious acknowledgement I remember. Shortly following that, it’s too difficult to explain when exactly, I left my bedroom. Don’t let the connotation of leaving confuse you. Leaving usually implies going away from something. In the physical sense, I remained laying there. But I, somewhere between tucked toes and breakfast, left. Some would describe this as an out of body experience, but I rather felt I was imploding.
I spiraled downward from the penthouse of my reality to the parking garage of of my relative delirium; an in body experience. I guess it could be compared to Alice’s falling down the rabbit hole. A reader may speculate, and claim I was dreaming. But even long gone to this location, I was aware that I was safely nestled in my bed.
Where I wound up was a dark, and dank, and simple place. I didn’t like it at first; I never do. I have no control there. Whenever I’m by myself long enough, whether it be while I’m driving, at the park, or just walking somewhere, I always end up in that place. I can trace back my first visit there to three years ago, sitting on the front door step of my house.
There is my honesty. It is the stuff of me. And it’s sometimes ugly, or bitter, or fearful. But it is the part of myself that is least distracted. With the least artificial flavoring. Void of bias or distortion. And when I can endure my exile from superficial reality, and visit with quiet and patience, I understand- everything.
This morning in particular, my thoughts fired like persistent sparks. Less like a machine gun and more like a firework; each one in the opposite direction from the other.
Zoom! ” I shouldn’t think that.”
Zoom! “What am I doing?”
Zoom! “Nothing is everything.”
Maybe I’m not well. Or maybe higher levels of understanding, and relief from mental exercise are just neuroses that develop to compensate for what I cannot fathom. But maybe freedom is weaved from the fabric of nothingness. Perhaps from the knots of attachment, threads of truth come undone. I think taking time to do nothing is like looking for something in the dark. You may have little hope of finding it, but you are forced to do nothing if not make your attention undivided; you practice focus. Learning to do nothing is the practice of life herself.
New Times Frontier 