Out Of Mind

The beautiful articulation of my mind enables me to move, to flex, to wrap myself around ideas and pour myself over them. My mind gives me the ability to change the direction of an impulse, to shift my perspective, to display a kind of heterodoxy of thought. My brain is a defining factor, pyscho over physio, mobile over static, higher animal over barnacle or tree.

And on a cold wet morning, sometimes I'd rather be a tree. I have just come to realise that the bearings of my mind are not forever. The knowledge has always been there, especially since the time I went crazy and decided to do a PhD. But realisation, the event of something becoming real, is a different matter. I ache on such mornings. My mind is the main culprit. And being articulate is sometimes more of a curse than one might ever have imagined.

Wait. This reminds me of something I posted not too long ago.