I am finding life irrationally difficult these days. Every day, my mind is warring with reality, trying to conjure up beauty, happiness by sheer will power – apparently, my mind is in dire need of such pink overtones to find some peace. I stand by, mostly, wondering why I am using up my energy in this way. It’s not like there’s so much of it anyway.
It is always like this before something new begins. A kind of fever, irrational but real, signalling change and loss of control, pointing out risks, danger, and fear of what is coming. As if there had been any control beforehand. I mean: really. It may have seemed like it if I’ve made myself that little bit too comfortable in a situation. If part of me has (again) started to believe that there won’t be any more change. That I can rest, that I can finally relax.
I get confused this way. I forget that I can rest even though things are changing. That nothing is consistent except change. And so I work, and worry, and plan, to achieve this illusionary point where I can finally let go because “everything is as it should be”.
The pattern is tiring, exhausting. But it will all be good, in the end. Some part of me knows this. The knowledge keeps me sane.
On the physical level, fever is a good sign, after all. It shows that the body is working against an illness, against intruders. Spiritual fever, than, must surely indicate that the mind is alert, that it is moving, tender but agile, against stagnancy. Or so, at least, I am telling myself, in a mother’s soothing voice.
The Mindwheels 