Journey to the center of my mind...

    It’s not a place I’ve attempted to visit before. My mind.  In fact I see this process to be similar to drinking a couple of glasses of prune juice.  My husband (who possesses bowel movements you can set your watch to) says you have to drink a couple of glasses of prune juice every now and then to, “keep yourself regular and clean the gook out”.  I once threatened to put that on his tombstone.  Although I suppose they are wise words coming from an Army Sergeant.  Its best for all concerned that our military at least attempt to keep themselves regular. 

    It did get me wondering what happens to our minds if we don’t purge them regularly.  How do we keep them running safely and clean the gook out? This is how I find myself, on a journey through my mind in an attempt to clean the gook out.  If such a thing is possible.

    Forget the body, I find a person’s mind to be a wonderland.  Some people I meet conjure pictures of a circus onto the movie screen of my all too fertile imagination.  I imagine myself opening their heads and peeking inside to discover a world with laughing clowns, dancing elephants, cotton candy and acrobats.  Swirls of color like one of those spin art paintings, beautiful chaos.  On a good day I can only hope such a scene lurks within the confines of my thick skull.  Others I meet scare me with their blandness.  The sheer lack of color I find within the confines of their skull depresses me.  It’s times like that that I am thankful I cannot actually open their minds.  I fear I will find a stark white cell with a miniature of them sitting in the middle, lifeless.  A wax statue. 

Maybe people are like gifts.  Our bodies the colorful wrapping and our minds the gift?

   
    This is just a journey through my mind, an attempt on my part to get the creative juices moving again.  Find my way back to that little girl who’s green eyes sparkled so vibrantly the first time she wrote a short story that the teacher felt compelled to call her up to read it.  Despite the fact that she was the quietest and therefore assumed shyest girl in class.  That skinny little freckle faced girl stood before the whole class and, knees knocking, read her first short story.  It wasn’t fear but exhilaration that had her speeding back to her seat.  The class sat in stunned silence following that reading.  Then the teacher came forward and for the first time since any could recall, gave a compliment.  It was a momentous day. “Rat woman”, as they’d dubbed her for her rat like face and odd habit of wearing panty hose with unshaved legs, usually critiqued any writing as if she were literary goddess of the United States. One could practically see the rhinestone studded crown adorning her head.  Rat woman in fact turned to that little girl and told her to seriously consider a career in writing. 

    I’m on a mission, 20 years later,  to find that little girl once again.  I sure hope she’s not buried in the center of my mind under a pile of crumpled little dreams and unwritten thoughts forever.  I do hope, dear reader, that you don’t mind traveling with me while I attempt to dig her out…