Mushroom


Sometimes I feel like a mushroom hiding in a field of flowers waiting for the conditions that will cause the spores in my mind to release into the Universe and change it…but for now I am just a mushroom. Very few know I bleed blue. So tired. Sometimes falling asleep in the middle of life’s day…

…. but not at night.

Feeling things fall away that used to matter like how small I am to others greatness. How little I mean to the universe I would change. How much that does not matter anymore. Not even whether or not anyone reads this.

I used to look at the golden people and feel sad because I would never fit in the golden places and now I look at them the way a cow stares at a new fence…without even comprehending what they mean anymore. They are just as strange as aliens.

It is like being at the bus station with only one good ear. Hearing sound but not knowing where it comes from. Hearing words that do not sound like English even though I know they are English. Looking at someone’s face while they talk and not having a clue what they are saying because the background noise is too high and the exhaust too thick.

It is like hearing a sound and knowing it is music but it sounds like Hindi music and I think to myself, “Why is that on the radio in America?” Then deciding not to worry about it because it is not that important what music is playing on the radio. It is like having someone in real life make love to you and you cannot even feel it or participate because you are not even there and the only way you know it happened was the antibiotics you had to take…

People have called this ‘disassociation’ and maybe it is.

But not the kind they think it is. It is more like me talking to myself right here and now in front of the world and not caring a whit what difference it makes…like the many many days of childhood I cried for hours without stopping because no matter how hard I tried I could never UNDERSTAND people.

That also does not matter. The moment, set in diamond, does not matter the words the skills not even Time Itself matters. All that I am and ever will be has been for the sake of the world and hardly any of it for the sake of me and now I pay the price for that…being a mushroom in a field of flowers.

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