[day dreamer]
Typical of the head is that my thoughts flutter the moment I set down my pen to the paper. There seems an emptiness so square it has four walls in sight, all of them too close to see any edges or corners. Yet, when I ride my bike it all comes in again like a stream, gentle, but without pause. Sad then of course, this is one of the times I refuse to pen down any thing if it were Truth itself in the shape of words dictated directly to my brain. Not so sad is the journey, for it is always pleasant to see where free thoughts take me this time. Some nagging voice is always telling me to be sure to absolutely remember this particular sentence or situation, but we never succeed, me nor the nagger, whomever he is. Perhaps the genius ones are the ones who do interrupt their bike rides, mealtimes, nap times. They stop cycling, shove their plates aside, defy their sleepiness and stand up to go find some paper to write down and thereby catching that glimpse of light. Perhaps, because I can only assume such, I am not anything except from what I experience through my own body and mind. I admit I do enjoy these thinking rides and hate to interrupt myself. Body and mind are my primary instruments. And they do seem to work wonders when I am engaged in some activity. It might be the senses that free something in my mind, otherwise forced. It seizes a colour or smell, takes on a route where I can merely follow. I lose track immediately when I agree to surrender. I am a writer then in my head all the time, just not when I sit down with a pen, in the attempt of reconstructing previous paths of my thoughts.
Since it is the only thing that I have that is worth anything I will have to try this reconstruction in earnest. It is a great pain to lose thoughts. Especially so if the cause is one’s busy-ness considering the basic wants of a body I happen to own. Again, what we see here, the cure and the cause, they are equal. I feel without power when I realise the amount of thoughts forgotten. Often I do remember that an epiphany occurred, but its content has left me. Sometimes I feel it should be this content that feeds me, instead of the basic needs of keeping a body alive that consumes so much of my time. But, no fool I am, to not know I need the foods as fuel for thoughts, and I wouldn’t personally dream of tinkering with the particular ideas existence has concerning itself.
The simplest solution is of course, as mentioned, to accept equality between cure and cause. This would look like my hand being present to record the thoughts that occur, therefore interrupting whatever occasion I am enrolled in by getting out some paper and a pen. In itself not impossible, for such notebooks and pens exist that would fit most pockets with space to spare. And I have tried the solution. I had to. For if it would be that I could have tried harder – as with most wishes their natural enemy is the world – and my personal fondness of obstacles. Without them what else could I complain about? And what else could stop me from succeeding? It is true, for me at least, and it could have been left at that, but being human my mind is not content and wishes to come up with many a trick, only to fool itself knowingly.
It is precisely this that keeps me wondering: to be sure enough it is me who contains an answer of some sort, yet is is me also who is searching it. Unwillingly, my meandering has halted here, ‘tis because I have identified my owned paradoxes, and I have to be honest about this. Also unbeknownst to me, solutions have presented themselves in their typical way, a natural one. I didn’t even notice.
Tosca Mitkowska 