I cannot tell if my mind is broken I just wonder, sometimes, if everyone has the same gnawing and waking; the same recognition of the thin silver threads that hold our bodies here, on the ground where they should be. Mine sometimes does not pay attention, floating away on me, rising up over cities and countries and away from the places and times that it has been told to stay.
"Come back body. You are not quite done yet."
I pull the thin silver thread back to the ground, and try and focus on
the rising and falling of our chests, the glimmers and way we walk and the beauty of not having to think.
"Ground yourself here," they say. "Feel your feet now, taste something now, sit with the aching in your neck, the taste of coffee on your lips, try and be aware that it is now and not just a piece of all the time."
I agree, nodding. My neck.
but I still think, it is unrealistic to expect us to stay anchored.
How we can move forward when our imagery of time snaps back to the beginning and
we realize that this cannot be linear because there cannot be a reality where you
are not there, smiling, holding, living and so
how can there be possibly a "before" and an "after" when all I know is you must be
now
you cannot have already been
I have never known something so thoroughly as that, most simply
You. Are.

I have always, after all, had a tendency to wander.