mind garble song

Someday, I hope to get demystified by those intriguing times when the mind seems to reflect a medley of dramatic skies looming overhead and songbirds that refuse to sing.  To identify with that mood is to imagine standing at the water's edge under a red canopy while spirited crashing waves clap against a gradually eroding rock. Funnily though, it is not melancholy that you find at the surface. What reflects on the face is a placidly blank composure with occasional bright smiles and giddy headed laughing that hurts in the elbows. Somehow. So splendidly messed up. Like the dark dungeons of thought are decorated by a happy person that sings about squirrels. and then there is the mildly felt presence of a musically thumping heart. Then arrives the sudden longing to read simply worded poetry. It is indeed remarkable how the mind holds it all.
Sleep is a foreign experience.

When the only way to feel better is to stop thinking. That, and perhaps also that beautiful sense of getting pulled further into the ocean with every next wave while standing still on wet sand.