a talk with

James sat across from Dr. Marvin, quiet at first as he usually was, taking some time before the plunge into his inner world. He had talked to Dr. Marvin for a while now, though he couldn't quite shake the fear of being judged and the question of what to say and what to withhold. He was finding it challenging as of late, growing as a young adult, looking to the generations that came before him and yet knowing that most of it didn't apply anymore. As he sat there looking at Dr. Marvin, he wondered if the sayings were true. Is he just as fucked up as I am? Perhaps you had to be in order to help those who were. The mind is a tempestuous place at times. Perhaps it is the real black hole that we are looking for out in space. Except that we'll never find it because it's a place we go to get lost, and there's nothing to be found there.

Life is some strange balance of being honest and humble, while honoring what we think is the self. That line of identity and letting it go, looking to our past so as to see it differently, and always carting along that small child who's still somehow along for the ride, knocking. 

"Well, James, why don't you just talk for a bit so I can see where you're at."

James said, "Yeah sure." 

"Um ..." James stuttered.

He was always amazed, not surprised, by how incoherent some of it seemed to come out. That even though he planned on talking about certain things or touching on certain points, they were like plans gone awry, working of their own accord. He talked and talked as Dr. Marvin listened quietly. James was unsure if he felt better after following his own rampant train of thought or if somehow it still left him feeling sticky and unclear, as if intent and precision might help him arrive more slowly into the station.

It is often said that what we give thought to becomes of us, and yet what we ignore comes beating us over the head, so we can’t fully align to that which entices us and yet we cannot deny that which we entice. James did enjoy speaking to another, face to face. There was something grounding about it. He could feel his feet, see the body in front of him, watch as the room grew darker and then lighter again as if changing in his mind. Even here, where letting it all go was the game, James found himself aware of how he sat, composed himself, the feel of his back arching as a slight pang. He found himself perplexed by the complexity he used to circle around the simplicity that was his always problem. A contrast and comparison, the man in the mirror and the way he saw him. Could he really think it to be true? That a way of looking at would change the thing being looked at, as if he could just surrender all that paranoia of concern with others so easily. 

Sometimes it was hard to tell what was challenging but good for the spirit, what was hard and unnecessarily so, how much laziness was innate and how much drive was conditioned. He often wondered of such things, of himself, of the world. Of why he was carved so flawed, that an inside could be twisted and yet appear smooth on the surface. 

As if an intelligent tree, he stopped talking. He felt better, and was for a moment relieved, a transmitter along the network working in a web that wound not only him to Dr. Marvin but him to the entity of his mind itself, touching the leaves and the wind that blows them, as if in a blink called to question ~ is it even real?

copyright 2018 ⓒ / forrest gallagher