Does your mind ever play a raging game, a wild game, a bare teeth game in which it wants to rip to shreds everyone who steps on its thinking toes?
Does your mind ever want to slice, dice and disturb everyone who didn’t behave properly, who failed to act as the observing mind deems correct?
Does your mind ever deal death sentences against the unwary, the innocent bystander, the judge dealing its own death sentence against you?
Watch out, innocent bystanders! The wild mind is a revengeful creature, a creature with its paw caught in the metal trap meant to kill it. That injured hurting mind will kill you and you and maybe you.
It doesn’t mean to kill. It only wants to stop hurting, to stop the vivid pain, to release its maimed paw from that which desired its meat, its blood, its fur.
You’re not reading my blog? Fifty years or life! You silently scorn? Lock her up in the county jail and throw away the key. You disagree, you think yourself better? Water torture!
The wild mind, the wild mind. Some people let their wild mind out for a scream or outburst or dangerous spin, allowing it to slay everyone in its path, a spatter of gunfire, the falling of innocence. Others lock their wild mind in the basement and hope it dies, disappears, forgets itself, turns gold, turns angelic, turns sweet, miraculously transforms.
What to do with this unrepentant creature? This one with the maimed paw who only wants life as golden, as rainbow, as pots of gold beneath the rainbow, as joy.
How dare this person, that person, express their ignorance one more time? How dare they see only their own misguided path?
I watch my wild animal mind as it whimpers and curses and paces in its mental cave. Part of me wants to let it go. Let it rip. Let it roar. Let it aim for the jugular of that misbehaving soul.
Instead I write these raw words. You paint them. You sing them. You drum them. We dance them. We draw them. We allow their energy to spiral up, out, beyond the cave.
The wild animal allows us to pet, to stroke the matted fur. Will he let us comb him, tend his bloody paw? He blinks a yellow eye at us. We sing softly, softly, heeding danger tamed, turned to purr.
We’re glad we didn’t let him destroy one of our precious own selves, our precious mirrors in the world. Loose, blood trickles red against the snow. Chained, the energy destroys inward.
How to reconcile, reconcile? How to tend this dangerous one, this one of spit and foam and whimpering and rage?
We lean closer, singing sweet nothings to heal the buried pain which only sometimes leaps toward the throats of our sleeping innocence, our sleeping tossing and turning, our sleeping sighs, our night terrors.