I often wonder how it was possible for me to write so often during the past year. Even write with clarity and purpose. At present I find myself at a loss for clarity in my words and thoughts. If I could ever describe the clutter and mayhem in my mind, it would look something like the deck behind my house this morning. The flowers have bloomed in such an exaggerated way that they almost look gaudy. Flashy, showy harlots tumbling out of their containers. The humming birds whiz by and dive bomb your head. Their colors are so ruby red and intense gold that they also look like something left over from a nauseating French baroque parlor. The sky is either so sapphire blue or so full of cotton ball white swollen clouds that it feels a bit too psychedelic, like it may fall down on your head. Life is so intense and pulsing outside my door that the same thing I love about living here is almost making me sick.
I know the burst of being I am overwhelmed with has nothing to do with the humming birds or clouds. It is all about me trying to find stillness and calm. I have an energetic and scattered mind, and at the same time I have a mind that craves quiet. I usually like this aspect of who I am. I like my sporadic bursts of creativity and thought followed by moments of being a mental couch potato. I usually like the way colors seem so vivid to me, the way the smell of lilacs or fresh bread can give me such pleasure. I usually revel in the woody paths and climbing rose trellises in my mind.
But of late I wish it would all stop. Just for a moment. I wish I was dull and dumb and a careless dolt. Just for a moment.
I wonder if you have ever felt this way? Felt like the very things you love about yourself are making you the slightest bit crazy? And tired? Dare you admit that?