Questioning the constant and never ending, never quieting down, always active thought flow, catching the whispers one by one, something changes. A shift of power. A change of energy. A freedom occurs and replaces imagined limitation and imprisonment expressed in according manic behavior.

Knowing my mind to be an interpreter of realities, not always the one creating them, depending on whether or not I’m in my ‘right’ mind it is no longer hard for me to conclude that the mind then, is not necessarily right, nor presenting me with images of truth. Too often depending on when and what it’s interacting with, it is merely a reflection of egoic assumptions of the world I then can react to. The train of thought can be an aggressive fast speeding demon, (‘ drive like a demon from station to station…’) especially when fueled by dark emotion.

The responsibility for this interrogation is mine, all mine.

‘Where do you come from?’ asks the inner reliable sOul voice. ‘What do you need?’

They all willingly, when asked, stand up and present themselves, having no power over the sOul that knows at last which questions to ask, no longer fearing nor questioning the function of the mind. Knowing full well how powerful an orchestration the mind can be.

If fused with creativity; the master of all poetry, all invention, foresight of wonder, visual musicality and ability to be collecting uplifting thought flow from the spheres, the cosmic collective of expressing all possibility of beauty.

Along with all this beauty comes the dark side. Simply as its counterpart to stretch to either sides, a force game to have us decide which path to tread, which route to follow. Whichever one we feed. The endless amounts of possible Soul journeys.

The negative thought flow fueled with ancient paining emotions of feeling a victim to circumstance, to lies, to suppression, to having been hurt, is a poison in the system worse than any medication, any alcoholic consumption, or pharmaceutical drug. The cocktail keeps me sleepless at night, hovering above me like a starry vault, leaving me observing its dark holes, its supernovas, the big bangs and the loops of limitation. All little dark Universes of their own. There is no life there. Just lostness and pain. They are but thoughts and they are draining my creative energy. They are painful, they ride me like a mare, producing bad dreams of violence and suppression as I finally sleep.

This is not real. It has placed its actors in this absurd play as people I know, cleverly dressed up as a projection from whatever hurt feeling not put to peace. The sOul finally has the wits to ask and put a stop to this obsessive hold.

When questioned they all lose their power and dissipate like mist clearing on a Spring morning, the cold of night receding for the warm rays of Sun. Losing their grip and power they can do no harm, bind no one and nothing, the ghosts gone. Instead come the tears. The fear from inside. The soul who has wandered alone and lonely for too long. Not knowing there were companions. Not knowing there was lOve to be had and shared in the world. Co-pilots. Friends. Soul mates. A lover.

The ivory tower collapsing at last, finishing the round of Darkness eating up its surroundings and by the last grain of sand of hope starting anew.

Fascinating machine, the mind! But in the end I am its master.

The freed sOul walks into the morning empowered, new, free, out of another prison of the mind.