Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The Pysche's Drama

A sting wrenched the mind, let loose a deep feeling of abandonment, and the tiresome relentless question - how did it all go wrong? Battling the wave of mixed emotions, high and low; words of angst spewed in much haste. Curled up in fear, the mind rocked itself to sleep, as streams of helplessness lashed against the pillow. And the dreams drifted back and forth.

An angry lion chasing down a dusty road, a hand desperately clinging to a steadfast grip, old yet robust. And as the heart races and ebbs with feet that try to fly with the wind, the roar recedes. And then emerges a bigger roar, a T-Rex gnashing his teeth and uprooting homes. A wail pierces the air, worrying about the lives lost and those in danger. The feet work themselves to action again, tugging that old faithful grasp and dashing to find refuge. Road after road the feet run, up winding stairs and through iron-wrought doors, doors after doors are closed, pulled, slammed, bolted heavily, windows are shut down, the iron grills pulled to test their strength, and into a corner, inside layers of safety, making sure the hand reaches for the loving grip, the heart huddles; the thumping not ceasing in the least. Soon the iron doors morph into oars and the sturdy place bounces off a raging sea; sharks and whales circle around, manifesting their magnificent dives and tails. The boat crashes, the waves lash, the whales pounce, the mind screams, but there is no feeling, no pain.

Back in a familiar place with those near and dear, watching closely at a gaping hole in the wall. And out of it slithers a nasty worm, huge and fat, with a surprisingly benign smile. But disgust rises up in the air, fear mingles ominously. The people nearby vanish into mists. All alone, again. And the worm keeps drawing itself out, bigger, and bigger. Hands and mind are petrified, muffled screams of help scatter unheard. 

The screams are the loud sirens of a rickety train. A hand shoves bunches of people into compartments. Crouched again in a corner, the safety of the familiar clasp, soothes the trembles. A rumbling is heard in the distance, the train rattles, and the wind hisses and howls through the brittle windows. An approaching storm, someone says. The train will be hurtled into nothingness, others quiver. With a wave of resolution, the mind decides to firmly shut and bolt the train's door, confident that it will defer the storm's wrath on the train. The heart leaps with its first encounter with the looming imminence of death, and shatters itself to pieces as the hand presses against that familiar touch, that unwavering bond. How can I comprehend the feeling of seeing you hurt and lost? Assuring one another with empty consolations, we huddle, hoping against hopes, futile prayers muttered under the gripping uneasiness of uncertainty. The storm approaches faster and faster, the train rattles  and sways like an aspen, and the heart and the mind hug each other close, awaiting the very end.

And finally, dawn bursts through the windows. The vampires of the mind are chased for now. But the nightmares are sure to linger for a lifetime. A commendable mind, an over-imaginative psyche, playing out fears crawling deep under the cracks of the subconscious. Fatigued by the constant running, the crouching, the hiding, the incessant locking of doors after doors. Where am I fleeing off to? How many layers of shutters can I draw around me. How safe will I truly be deep within myself, with so many walls of solid brick built around me?

Enough of all the teasing, mind. I get the message. The phantoms of my fear will continue to take the shape of lions, dinosaurs, whales, sharks, worms, snakes and storms... all raging outside my barred doors, unceasing till I unlock and face them eye to eye. And so I shall try, to stay where I am, and face the demons right through their unflinching eyes.

Do nightmares provide strength? I should think so, or why would the mind go through so much trouble to fabricate all the drama?

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