Breadcrumbs

The mind is nothing less than

a labyrinth. I often find myself

wandering its narrow corridors,

wondering if any order exists…

.

It is amazing to me how the feeling of panic,

as if there is no hope of joy remaining,

can be aroused in such differential situations.

And it is concerning, indeed, how these situations

affect little of my physical being. As I ponder

the outcome of such a situation, I find myself

dependent, not on the reconciliation of myself

and the actions that condemn me to such feeling,

but on the patience and forgiving of my admirers,

for hope of joy remaining. It is here that I find

a weakness in my condition, as being human,

of reliance on the affirmations of others for the

assignment of feeling, for such a conclusion thus

renders me powerless in the face of emotion, as

is man to that of the unknown; flux as an ocean. 

.

Forward thinking leads me to an attitude of defiance.

Yet, I feel that only a martyr would follow thoughts

he knows, to feeling, are incompliant. Still, in this

dichotomous state, in which I speak of panic,

as if there is no hope of joy remaining;

I take defiant thought for granted.

.

In sight of negation I move, of course, to moderation,

as I see a brother, so full of defiance to the subtle

affirmations of even his more intimate admirers, that

it places a sickness inside of me, sharing the likeness

of the one that plagues him with perpetual misery.

If only one could defy thought for sake of a heightened

heart, but as I’ve seen, once feeling is lost, being lost

is all you’ll be. So deep set in his ways, and sadly at

such a young age, my brother is ignorant in his cognitive

space to the guidance of feeling, even panic, that others

place. No doubt his inhibitions seem dissolved without a

trace, because his open ear for criticism, it seems, he has

erased.

.

Within this closed mentality one clearly feels authority,

as a lack of ambiguity precedes one’s natural ability to

perceive that which others provide so heavily for me.

Clearly I am hypersensitive, hyperaware. Some choose

to call me paranoid, but I see it to be more of a state of

great consideration, or even compassion, for those of

whom I truly care. In spite of my persistent inquiry, a

perspective best suited for joy remains unclear. Yet,

that in itself is intrinsic of an open mind, which allows

adaptation, most necessary as evolution provokes the

irrationalization of instinction, of course, now more than

ever before. I am bound in a state of constant confliction,

between feeling content in my mentality and being a

victim of self-inflicted limitation, because in both, I find

relation.