Mind Prison

The night is quiet and the darkness seems to be so thick I could cut it with a knife. It's in these times that I seem to be waking more and more to the sounds of black stillness. Even the usual ringing in my ears is but a distant memory. Confused, I lean out onto the solid, cold, concrete window sill and while holding onto rusty iron bars and looking up into the ink black heavens I imagine a visit from a friendly extraterrestrial. We shake hands out somewhere on the dew lain sod.In the dimness of the darkness he does seem to be made of gray light. I have a hopeful expectation that my benevolent visitor might treat me to some late night conversation or maybe linger for the thrill of an abduction. But my mind snaps back into my body and I am only treated to the stillness of the pursuing dawn. Coming to pay a quiet and respectful greeting while reflecting on the past 12 hours of listless peace. Even the insects have decided to stay inside their houses and meditate quietly on the night's blustering faintness of starlight as a gentle, cool breeze reminds me to pull myself back into the warmth and safety of my foyer.

I'm wondering out loud now as the seconds tick past and remind me that the shelter and peace I long for can only survive in this present moment. Hiding behind the shadows in the nexus of "Now" never to survive the peaks and valleys of my limitless imagination. Where Pacific islands bask in the perpetual noon day sun. Gentle on shore breezes gust ever so slightly bending the soft hair growing so plentiful on the nap of my neck. Waves rhythmically spill onto coarse, white sandy beaches where never is found the footprint of another human soul. Here time does not exist. Floating effortlessly out in a crystal clear blue lagoon a white sailboat beckons to me in her soft, seductive and alluring voice to come out and pay her a visit.

My mind races on to memories of a garden. A beautiful garden tucked into the fertile crescent of a river laden valley. Two hawks glide effortlessly on billowing clouds that hold up the softness of the night air. Through my nose and sense of smell I am treated to the fragrance of honey, night blooming jasmine and earthy aromas of decaying leaves. Small animals of all kinds continue to scurry about on top of the leaf mulch deposited from the giant forest canopy. Ahead of me slightly in the distant are the faint outlines of ruins from earlier ancient civilization. Many people must have walked these overgrown forest paths fulfilling the futility of their day's activities. In the distance a stone temple is being swallowed alive by giant, thick sprawling jungle vines. I feel as if I'm being suffocated and call out for help into the abyss that is forever before me.

Loosing my grip on the edge and falling down from the window ledge I slam into the cold, dank reality of my present incarceration. The concrete floor of my prison cell is not my friend and I desperately yearn to return to the warmth of my Pacific atoll. Faintly I can remember that is still being guarded by the presence of my sleek yacht. My hands are orangery-red from the rust of the window's iron bars. Even though my body is continually here in this five foot by five foot concrete cubical hell my mind once again begins to race on and rev its sizzling hot engine as the flames begin to spill out from the exhaust headers of my 427 turbo charged Detroit Hemi engine. The Christmas tree lights turn from red to yellow and then to green as my foot pounds on the stiffness of the accelerator peddle pressing it to the floor.