I live on the inside, mostly.
Not on the outside.
I'm learning, more and more.
But yeah.

I am a galaxy of stars,
a universe of stories.
Sitting on the pinnacle of a rocky black spire.
Cross-legged, calm
in the whirlwind of ideas that I think all to myself.

Lines extend out through empty space,
like neurons in infinity -
thought connecting thought with thought
to build a web of life and consciousness,
a twinkling framework for my soul.

I reach to feel the soul of passing threads,
and craft the sparks into some airy nebulae.

Combine, twine. Jump that far synaptic gap.
Connect and catch the pulsing breath:
Idea with idea join.

And from the gauzy mother-thought
I watch the new idea spring,
dancing with that new-found heart-throb dance
and glistening still with birth's fresh fluid
flung
aloft like stars.
The threads, they grow.
To find the greater context.
To live.
To know.

But then eyes fly open.
Space contracts,
Flipping, spinning,
Twisting back into my head.

That place
Is beautiful, I think.
All I see there is my own.
Storms may rage but none can steal the threads that hold the cradle of my soul.
For my mind is a place
that no one else has ever been.
Where no one else will ever be.
-
Sometimes, darling,
I wish that I could take you there...
Unfortunately, the only thing that really gets through the blood-brain barrier is alcohol,
not human souls.

So for now, we'll have to do with words.