"Is our judgment clouded? Something swims between my heartstrings, more deft in motion than anything I have seen before. It weaves a sheen behind words, a nugatory glare beyond the eyes. I fear given time I will see it for what it is... and I will not tell the difference between judgment and being told.
"What sounds we hear from our own mouths will be that of a creature that lays in our unconscious. Fighting its way through the thick twine of our thoughts. We have not been trained for such combat, that war of minds. I fear this will come to pass for some of us, maybe all.
"Such thoughts make my knees shake a little, like a clamp has come down on my shoulders. It's not the weight of the world, but very nearly in its enormity.
"Tell me then, do you trust yourself? To lay among the thistles and thorns, to bare secrets on your tongue and whispers in your ears. Do you know whether this great weight can be held up in your measly hands? You cannot let go, even if you're not strong enough. That is the trick.
"I think if you were to ask me, (which you shouldn't, I am hardly qualified for this) I would lean close to Mother Earth. Hear her breathing beneath my useless fingertips. I would tell you from that place, laying on the ground, that I have no words of wisdom. The knowledge is not of my making, but I shall relay it to you.
"I do not know what strength is, come to think of it? I often wonder whether it's the hard beating of a sturdy heart, arms and legs carrying armour and weapons. Or maybe tear stained cheeks surrounded by determination and hard earned trust. In the end, I always favour the quiet ones. So telling is the action of someone who expects no praise. Who holds the bird gently knowing it will never love them for their kindness.
"But who am I to tell you what is strong and what is weak? My hands are not rough, not bitten and used such as yours. They tell me that only hard is strong. I do not believe that just yet. I have seen more kindness and trust in those that hurt than in the hard of heart.
"My judgment has skewed, see? I have placed pieces of others into my beating heart in the hope that they will mend. The fear behind my eyes is not mine, but theirs, an inheritance of sorts.
"Which makes me ask you again, can you lay down between the fingers of kindness and trust yourself not to destroy them? I ask you because in all my long life kindness has come from strange unknown places. Unknown - something humans can't bare.
"I'll end my call here. I assume you haven't picked up for a valid reason. Please do not take my words to heart, I can't say I'm such a sober fellow right now. Makes me wonder why I must be drunk to make my thoughts wild like that of the childrens'. Do you know how I lost that spark? It eludes me..
"Goodnight my dear, call soon."
YOU ARE READING
Scraps of A Mind
General FictionUnder my feet is the earth, above my small form is the sky. Both seem endless and vast, stretching onwards forever. In between these things are thoughts, rattling around in my brain like a landslide with no direction. Here are some thoughts, the one...
