Thought-clouds move into the crevices of the unready mind as I wake up from the depth of my sleep. One by one, they move together to reinstate an anxious state that marks the beginning of my day. Suddenly, as if to appease the anxious nature of these thought-clouds, I divert all available attention to the centre.
Though I know that mindful breathing could allow me a momentous reprieve, as anxiety carves, I could do little to help myself. Usually, I persuade myself to sit up on the bed and say a few caring words. It is alright. It is alright. Mostly though, the exhaustive work that the activity needs drains my energy before long. Then knowingly, I would depart from the bed and slip into the morning’s chores. There is little I believe I could do, if at all. Other though-clouds move in with each activity and the attention dedicated to the earlier ones now have to dissipate towards them. As attention withdraws, forgetfulness moves.
But, if I would sit down to engage in an activity which will require the full force of my creative imagination, the anxiety would come back. There it will sit waiting, even as I would try to breathe in and breathe out, for my surrender. A chore that has resulted into failure could trigger the underlying resentment and fear and before I would know, I would crumble down into the same bed, exhausted of efforts.
Imagine this happening each morning and in successive rounds through the day. There are also the remaining weeks, the months, and the long years. There are also countless events – harmless but conspiring, harmful and betraying – all such. Could something be done, I ask when the thought-clouds have given me a microcosm of space. Before any answers could appear or attempts to ask for help, the thought-clouds would come back. After all, the mind that breeds the thought-clouds, what could it want as my diagnosis?
I close my eyes to escape all this. The inactive mind, the drowsiness in the eyes, the inability to link one logical conclusion with another, the anxious perception of all things, the heaviness in the body, the inability to practice perseverance of behaviour, the seemingly volcanic outbursts, the weakening of nerves, the stare into the oblivion and the void inside.
When I open my eyes, they return.