for the human mind. It can't help it. It does what it does, especially late at night. 
You can wheel out dreams and dissect them, or look at thoughts as they whirr around like gnats, seeing them form and fade, emerge and die. You can dredge up memories and pick them apart, in all their unreliable glory, their pointed stories shoring up your every habit and decision.
It will do no good. Your mind is always in flux. You can feed it daily, and it'll absorb all you throw at it. Out in the landscape, you can head it towards the fringed silhouettes of trees, or the damp grass underfoot, or the coolness of air on your cheek, the near and far, the hand and head, the every possible nuance of your perception. You'll never monitor all of them.
You'll see what you choose to see, and be imprisoned by it. So is it too much to ask you to choose carefully? Choose widely, wildly, wisely and never trust a fragment.
© 2007 Jules Horne
6/12/2007
Michel Faber (ed)
Shorts 4, 2001
p 69
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