Mind
Not so much silence as stillness. Peace of the uncluttered mind. Strange that calm overtakes the preoccupied body when in those rare moments, the mind forces the hands to sink down, the eyelids close and the mind lie blank, thinking on the end of nothing.
Like a hibernating computer, the brain prepared to re-focus, yet sitting dormant in the sudden quiet.
The woman breathed; in, out. Expelling thoughts, re-focusing. Mind blurring those thoughts like breaths; in, out. So many rejected, a few chosen, used.
Minds awake now, so late at night and nearly morning; thoughts ballooning, larger in the dark of silent rooms, large in the troubled expanse of midnight. Biting psychological nails, spirals of internal laughter thinking back on the day, the stealthy approach of sleep like shadows, infiltrating the mind. Nothing remembered of that state between consciousness and the subconscious in the chill light of morning. Only the weary repetition of clutching anxiety, thoughts still imprisoned in the journey of the mind.
The body was tired. Knuckle joints aching, exhaustion pressing behind the darkened globes of the eyes and the lids falling over them, down, down, black slits in the impassive face. The shoulders drooped, were straightened by the resisting mind, fell. The heater behind the back radiated heat to the cheeks, flushing with pin-points of warmth.
- Lydie
Like a hibernating computer, the brain prepared to re-focus, yet sitting dormant in the sudden quiet.
The woman breathed; in, out. Expelling thoughts, re-focusing. Mind blurring those thoughts like breaths; in, out. So many rejected, a few chosen, used.
Minds awake now, so late at night and nearly morning; thoughts ballooning, larger in the dark of silent rooms, large in the troubled expanse of midnight. Biting psychological nails, spirals of internal laughter thinking back on the day, the stealthy approach of sleep like shadows, infiltrating the mind. Nothing remembered of that state between consciousness and the subconscious in the chill light of morning. Only the weary repetition of clutching anxiety, thoughts still imprisoned in the journey of the mind.
The body was tired. Knuckle joints aching, exhaustion pressing behind the darkened globes of the eyes and the lids falling over them, down, down, black slits in the impassive face. The shoulders drooped, were straightened by the resisting mind, fell. The heater behind the back radiated heat to the cheeks, flushing with pin-points of warmth.
- Lydie
posted by Lydie at
11:37 pm
2 Comments:
This is a great post Lydie. I think it's my favourite yet.
I love how my most inspired thoughts come just before falling asleep. I just hate that I can't remember them the following day.
yus! I'm glad you like it, that must mean you understand something of what was going through my brain! good job, nobody else seems to have ;)
mm.. thoughts are like that, here and then gone.
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