Monday, August 4, 2008

Of Cabbages & Kings

the music fills the space between
the deities and the prophecies
of our bodies pressed seamlessly
silent in the shade
she looks at me so fearlessly
and i take it all too seriously
but it all becomes so clear to me
and makes me understand
that she's mine, she's mine, she's mine, all mine
yeah she's mine, mine, mine, mmm

~Brett Dennen, She's Mine

I've been having deep philosophical conversations with The Gypsy again. Well, actually, she talks, I listen... but I had to conjure her first. Seemed she decided to take a leave of absence without first getting clearance from me. Bitch. Left me hanging for a few days. She thought it was funny...

Sounds a bit psychotic, eh? Mayhap so... mayhap. But that's the way it works. I've heard that those who question their own sanity are sane (sane enough, maybe?). Here's hoping.

But, this is all preamble...


This weekend I visited a friend who is stuck at a "behavioral health" institution. He's doing well enough, in fact he's doing quite well, but his fellow asylum mates were... um... interesting. ("Take your pill, Mr. McMurphy!") It got me wondering... where's the cutoff point to insanity? Where's the line that says, "You no longer have control of the weirdness in your head." And how frightening would that be? I mean, I wander down some wild paths in my head sometimes... enough so that I do occasionally question my hold on the threads of sanity. So far though, I know my feet are planted and how solidly. I think a lot of that comes with having creative releases for the stuff that might otherwise send me leaping off a precipice. I talked to my friend about that (he's a brilliant writer). We agreed that if there wasn't some kind of outlet, we'd both be "gone for good."

The mind is such an intricate maze. I could post a rant, "why do we shun those who have mental issues?" (People run from that faster than roaches running from daylight, and my hunch is that it's the inherent fear-factor.) But that's not my purpose today. I'm just trying to understand how much is too much, and why. Show me the line that gets crossed. I've known some whack-jobs in my lifetime - some who obviously needed some sort of restraint, some who were quite functional, some who were just off enough that I had to wonder, "how much more 'til they split?" But those were my opinions. Ultimately, I guess, my question is, how long before someone takes a good long look at your favorite gypsy-possessed gal and says, "Hoooo doggies... woman should oughta be caged." Instead, I get "you're so creative" or "gawd, you're a riot!" or (my least favorite) "you can be a little intense sometimes..."

Just do me one favor, huh? Don't numb my head with anything. I kinda like my internal disconnect/reconnect jaunts. Tie me to the bed posts if you must (to keep me from harm, sillies!), but let my mind wander where it wants. Deal?
life is so precious it's as fragile as a dream
and in a moment we all grow our wings
I wish to sing as if no ones listening
I wish to dance as if no one is watching
I wish to dance as if no one is watching
and I, give thanks for my dreams
you can rob me of my sight
and you can poison my blood stream
but as long as I can dream then life is worth living
nothing last forever
not even the mountains
someday they will be swept away and swallowed by the sea
we all shall be blessedly released

~Brett Dennen, Nothing Lasts Forever

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