Descending into a whirlwind of thought, where every one consumes me ten times its antecedent.
Falling, I have a clear sight of up, but gravity and force push me down, spin me around, and hold me in the oddest positions.
Some thoughts I welcome, the sense of falling no more.
Some thoughts I loathe, suffocating, choking on air and water and dirt.
How come the good ones are faint and fleeting, effect an occasional grin and transient sense of happiness, but the bad ones are loud and linger, invade my subconscious and conscious life? How come agony feels too familiar, more familiar than bliss?
The force of the whirlwind is tremendous, the strongest woman couldn’t hold her own against it, or the strongest tree.
Evolution has assured that we are inevitably and ceaselessly swept up by this whirlwind and seldom let out.
Think. Plan. Premeditate. Analyze. Critique. Discern.
An auto-eject feature would have been most convenient in the grandiose layout of my human mind.
I am imperfect, and my imperfections emanate from every pore of my body. They sense the sweeping pull of the whirlwind, and they ooze, driven. Beckoned by destructive charge. My biology effectively counters my own enterprise. Demystified, this is: fear, hyper-analysis, confusion, non-commitment, complacency.
My resolve, then, is to understand the forces working against me, equal and oppose its action, and react not in a way that promotes its progression and trajectory, but that of my own.
In a Universe of energy, my point in space seems meaningless, my enterprise futile. My micro-decisions and their consequences and energetic equivalent arguably amount to zero net change. I look to the horizon in search of a reason to or to not. To just act seems rash…
I sweat, begin to spin. I think I’m falling. What if I can’t find up?