I wish I could get my head out of this funk it has been in all day.
Clouds have rolled in. No mystery there. Somehow they represent the condition within my mind, my thoughts. Grey, and rumbling. A swirling chill coating what was once warm air. An occasional blast of wind carrying with it an eerie silent rustling of leaves.
A clamp closes down, a vise, unlike any seen or felt. It surrounds my whole head, holding it tight. Imagine being inside the shell of an egg, only the shell isn’t made of calcium. It is more like a three foot thick wall, solid all around, hard as granite. There isn’t any give or take, but it can somehow squeeze infinitesimally inward.
Generally, I can feel my consciousness expanding beyond my physical body, or at least my mind reaching out beyond my skull. Today, however, it is contained within that thick shell. Inside the shell is a thick fog. Not a moist motionless fog, like the clouds I see in the sky, but a viscous fog that clings to my thoughts holding them, capturing them, not letting them escape. Not letting them morph or grow or float out beyond the thick cavernous wall.
It keeps me contained. I don’t like containment. I like to feel the vastness of the universe but today I only feel how tiny and confined it is. Its confinement makes me angry. It bubbles and seethes beneath the surface, like molten hot lava churning, swelling, popping in a thick glutinous fluid. Popping, I feel the anger seethe brightening into a sharp razor like point stabbing at whatever is near. Once escaped I feel the pressure released, a calm settles until the next bubble builds and explodes.
Don’t ask me to explain it. It is unexplainable. It holds me captured.
Where is the hand which can sooth? Where is the voice which can melt the thick shell imprisoning my madness?