Focus Amid the Onslaught
Focus Amid the Onslaught
By Tony DeLorger © 2011
How trivial the thoughts that cloud my waking moments, the passing fragments of a mind lost to its own proclivity. I watch as a gatekeeper, the passing traffic that holds no meaning beyond its own clutter and distraction, and I wonder if my mind has another purpose I am unaware.
Thought is a cumbersome process, like long bony fingers trying to claw their way out of a hole. Beyond logic and seeming purpose, thoughts come into being and dissipate faster than one can acknowledge their relevance. When not engaged in purposeful thought or some activity, our minds are at the mercy of incessant mental chatter. This relentless onslaught is like someone endlessly knocking on a door never to be opened.
I often seek silence just to temper this wasted mental gymnastics, and find it in distraction by pursuits and focus. The internal voices that hound my cognisance may have relevance in placing issues up-front to be dealt with, but one can only take introspection so far. Were I to surrender to the mutterings of my endless chatter, fruitful or not, I would be overwhelmed by processing the data.
As I get older I worry sometimes about forgetting words and similar events in my day. Perhaps it is my synapses slowing with age, or perhaps senility is hot on my tale. Regardless, I realise now I am unable to process all that is mentally placed before me; that would be suicide. So, in the wisdom of my own heroic lunchtime, I have become finicky about what I think about and with what I acknowledge important. This, for my own sanity, has become a necessity.
Considering I spend my life in pursuit of self-realisation, matters of philosophy, thought and the universe and everything, my mind is inundated with my own questioning and deliberation. There is no room for the mundane, the passing doubts or junk mail of my cyberspace. It is my focus on what I deem important issues that saves me from a straight jacket.
I saw a movie once about a psychiatric nurse who eventually went quite mad. There was a poignant scene in that movie where a patient caught the nurse stealing drugs to keep himself together. The patient, who was one of those flamboyant crazies who danced around like some nymph and muttered senselessly to himself, stopped dead in the room. With complete control and a calm intensity, the patient approached the nurse and said that insanity was his choice and that if the nurse wanted to join him it would be ok. The nurse was of course dumbfounded; this patient had been there for many years, and was deemed incurable. The patient, after a few moments of unnerving clarity, suddenly danced out of the room, returning to his usual state.
I have never forgotten that scene, experienced over twenty years ago and it remains as clear as the day I first saw it. It still brings up many questions about what sanity is and how close or far from it we are.
I remain dedicated to my quest for understanding of the human psyche and my own state of being, and like the patient, choose how I express my life. In the end it is all any of us can do.
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