Welcome to my head, welcome to my tunnel. Let’s walk through this adventure together, hand in hand as we make sense of the preposterous. As we walk through the thickening fog, we can get lost together in the misty darkness, not uttering a single phrase. Inflection and intonation is lost; we speak in dull and mumbled voices. Did you see it, way out there in the distance, at the peak of the ridge? You only need to close your eyes to truly see the magic. Eyes lie, and I trust them not. Just over there, behind the sheet of cloudiness, I sense a gateway into something more alluring.
I step out and part the fog with my hands, walking through its’ force field. The fog that you see and feel is merely a distraction inside of my head. It is a lesser evil than one could imagine. I put that fog there. It makes me feel nice sometimes. It helps blank out the indifference we may feel at what we see. It cuts off the border between what is right and wrong. In the fog the light bends and turns. To measure it in distance is something impossible in these conditions. None-the-less I am constantly walking toward it, it beckons me. Inside I tell myself to push forward and grab ahold of that light, and tear down the borders of the fog. If I can do this, perhaps I may be able to see clearly again, and find a joy in the world.
Until then I walk through the darkness and let the fog moisten my brow. My hands are clammy and my knuckles are tight. I walk for what seems like years, aging in the process, still no closer or further from the light. I can make out features in the distance, clutching onto the light spilling out of the fog. I am irritated and I am lonely. If only I could reach them, and bask in the glory of joyfulness together. I don’t have it, and it makes me hate and love it all-the-more. I fear that reaching the bending light will put me to my death. Maybe that is the point of it all; to search through the fog for the light until you actually reach it, and then when you can finally see the world clearly, the light slowly burns out and swallows you up with it.
As a scientist I am always hypothesizing on the exact measures and triggers that constitute a dive into each one of my tunnels. I find my procedures to be faulty, and anytime I come to a conclusion the data seems heavily skewed. There is this one main ingredient that I lack. This one thing that refutes my first hypothesis and leaves me wondering for the true answer.
Naturally I dig further, but become blinded by my own fog. It seems to be some sort of filter that blocks out any chance to find truth or reasoning. I keep searching for this mysterious element to concoct the ultimate treasure. Everyday as I reflect, I see this element slowly fading into the abyss, so far beyond my reach. Some days it seems so close to my grip that I can almost feel the elation soaring above and around my body.
I tried to create a broad hypothesis with the question, are there any triggers that can send the mind into a dive below the surface of the Earth? I feel that my research will never be done, and the case at hand will never be finally at rest. It will be a morphing, changing being that clings onto my emotions day in and day out. My research is inconclusive and I find that I must recalibrate my motive. If I constantly try to tackle this mysterious element which sends me further into the darkness, how could I possibly move forward?
It seems as though maybe I should focus on a new grounding in order to ease the former issue. If I can tackle the mystery by changing the moments prior a darkening environment then I should be able to walk upon the Earth again, fully dressed mind and body. It seems like something so intangible. I have no idea what it could possibly entail, so to envision it is a very difficult matter. But I also know that I mustn’t think this way and that there is a greater depth to the sea that anyone can see.
Unfortunately, I am a spy, and I am working against myself constantly. As soon as it is possible to scramble a piece of evidence, the other side runs off, laughing hysterically into the darkness for tricking me. I used to know not what the laughter meant, but as it continually perpetuated, I became infuriated with it and dissolved its’ evil plot. I knew myself. This is chaos, but as I know what I begin to feel and make a note of it, I use it against myself by deeming it irrational or deficient. I constantly plant my own traps right in the heart of everything.
If I were able to time travel in any given day inside of my mind, I would probably be working against my spy and never get anywhere or see anything in this world. I would be constantly traveling back and force between each second of my life; the one side trying the make it better and more beautiful, the other trying to damn me to the center of the Earth. It is an endless war, and there are only rare moments of peace. In between the peace is a silent void; a reflection of the wounded and the weak. That moment of peace is a moment of clarity.