I love to watch the rain
Rain with a flash of lightning
Lightning with a dash of thunder
Thunder makes me wonder
Wonder at the wayward wind
The wayward wind sets the rhythm
The rhythm sways the world
The world is in chaos
Chaos is peaceful
Peaceful is the moment
The moment when I am at home
At home watching the rain.

Certain sounds used to bother me.

Human noises like people breathing drove me crazy – it didn’t have to be a wheeze, a rasp or a rattle. It remained a battle to ignore the everyday sound of normal breathing, indecipherable, barely a decibel.

Another peeve, of course, was people eating, the cacophony of masticating – I flinched as I heard them chomp, crunch, chew, and munch. I recoiled in distaste as they audibly swallowed their lunch.

I didn’t understand why I found the innocent sound of a faucet dripping so irritating. I felt like a monster because I couldn’t control the flash of anger when I heard someone drumming their fingers, tapping their feet.

One word saved me from the lunacy of self-loathing – misophonia – a name for my malady.

I don’t know what it is about labels that turns your torments into traits. Labels are the leash you use to control your troubles. Ever since I discovered I am misophonic, mundane sounds, while still annoying, no longer overwhelm me.

Those who fear being misunderstood should
not get into the business of creation.
Nor should they who only want to be good.

Absolute truth is a piece of fiction.
What you create no longer belongs to you –
always subject to interpretation.

It is cathartic to create something new
even if it does not serve the purpose
you originally set out to do.

If misunderstanding makes you nervous,
remember, being understood can be worse.

A shoal of fish, my thoughts
flit about aimlessly,
succumb
to the pull of eddies,
get lost among the rocks.

Love and pain
are the water lilies.
Beautiful.
Recurring.
Temporary.

The mind is a river.
I am the riverbed.

The river drowns me.

The river makes me.

If I open my eyes, I will be awake.
I am awake; I don’t want to open my eyes.
Even though dawdling in bed is unwise
it is a bad habit I have yet to break.
If I were a morning person, I would shake
off sleep’s sluggish cloak and arise
fresh as a daisy; my arms open to the skies
and greet sunrise without the bellyache.