Sometimes,
When the mind is fuzzy;
Sometimes,
When thoughts congeal and stick,
And the body works on autopilot;
Sometimes,
When the walk is aimless,
And directed to investigating new paths,
New locales and stimulus for a mind that is trapped,
Refusing to acknowledge it’s blessings, and
Bringing terrors in the night.
There are no words.
And yet there are!
Here on the page they exist,
And pour forth in unexpected verse;
Trying to convey the feelings that come,
Like a vampiric friend,
A leech,
A parasite that will bring about its own demise,
with that of its host.
There are no words.
There are images,
Sensations, instinctive impulses,
And an exhausted numbness that must be respected.
Expressed in words, perhaps;
But not align to Western linear logic,
Not crafted to instruct step-by-step,
Placing one thought block on another,
Creating a path to follow to a conclusion.
Instead it just impresses,
a sense of being, and vagueness
that does not respect a planned
assault.
We must plan!
We must curate the garden that is our mind.
To avoid the weeds and tares that we plant,
Unwittingly sown, how I don’t know, into our thoughts.
But, like a garden,
Our labours can take time to bear fruit.
Like an ascent on Everest,
Planning is essential but not all.
The weather is capricious and must be respected,
And as with the mind, will alone
does not
always carry the day,
and we must
wait, impatient
or patient, while the weather
runs its
course, unpredictable but finite.
And then returns the calm.
Sometimes it seems there are no words.
But we plant and trust,
And wait,
That in time there will be a harvest.
And while we wait,
for me, there is music.
Wordless.
Accompanied by words.
Whatever.
It soothes and permeates the miasma,
Integrating with emotion at a different level.
Sympathising, uplifting, challenging;
The immense beauty that can be encoded in sound.
It is both intensely personal and communal.
A gift for which I am immensely grateful;
That soothes my tension,
And reminds me of all the other blessings I actually have,
And the feelings they will rightfully invoke in me,
Once the weather has calmed.
Sometimes there are no words.
Sometimes there doesn’t have to be.
Dribbles Of Inspiration 