Busy Day

I had a busy and exhausting day at work. I couldn't wait to get home to rest. I sat my laptop bag down by the front door of my house. I opened the door and as I walked in, I sighed. Just a few more minutes and I will be home. I kicked off my shoes and undressed. Standing there in my boxers, I lied down in my bed and closed my eyes. 2 minutes later, I was home, locked behind the doors of the deepest recesses of my mind.

I can't recall what I thought about, but I felt safe. These worlds, even when dangerous always feel safe to me. I trust my mind. I trust the places my mind takes me. . .the depth, the challenges the non-nomenclature. I trust that in my subconscious, a knife to the abdomen does not mean death for me, but is probably a metaphor for something deeper and more profound, like, like I’m a pushpin attached to the surface of the earth and I can’t move because pushpins can’t move; they stab. And though I am the pushpin, I am also the earth of which the pushpin stabs, kind of like stabbing yourself in the abdomen. . .yeah. And the metaphor? The metaphor is that as long as you’re strong in mind, you can never die. . .perhaps.

And yet, I can’t help, but feel that there’s work to be done when I go to sleep. Sometimes, I feel like I wake up more tired than when I went to sleep. And I’m not tossing and turning all night. My subconscious has just had a very busy night placing my metaphysical in this world afflicted with detachment disorders; they do just enough to keep us all detached from one another. Keep us from realizing the potential of a world community not angered to see one man go down in order to see yourself rise. Whose they? You know. . .they.

The busy work that encapsulates my sleep is worth it to me. I don’t mind it because I’m building metaphysical worlds within metaphysical worlds. I’m building true, true knowledge to pass on to little boys and to little girls. Because someday, someone’s going to look up to me and it won’t be just because of my height. I’ll have to answer. I’ll have to answer to the circles. No one escapes answering to the circles. The circles that brought my childhood to some person’s adulthood, inextricably are the same circles that will bring someone’s childhood to my adulthood. And I don’t claim to know who or what that will be; I just need to be prepared.

So each night, I get real busy and spend my nightshift cogitating on the infrequent juxtapositions that show themselves while I’m awake. These juxtapositions that don’t mirror how life should be, but show us how life is. And I want them to all be one and the same. So each night, I close my eyes real tight like I’m about to dive under water and shut my inside in and leave my outside out. Even my breathing becomes minimal, all in an attempt to ensure the purity of my subconscious world. I dare not let the outside world into its world for fear that my subconscious might start to believe some of this reality that is happening to us today. Some days, I wish I could walk away. But I’m not built for it. Not. . .designed for it. Not. . .equipped to be that man that doesn’t own up to what he owes.

And after much convincing, I wake myself up and do it all over again. Longing for the time when I can come back to that sacred and safe haven and just be. . .me. What’s me? Well, I’m just a thought.