Earhart

Empty. 

My thoughts are empty. No, my brain is empty. Like when it’s 1:30 in the morning and you got your fan circulating in the background. Clearing out your mind. I think these white-noise boxes are designed to suck out the thoughts from your brain. But isn’t that what I come here for? Every time, I sit here hearing nothing but the same static from the sound screens. Anything repetitious can drive you mad. The heavy beats of water dropping on my air conditioner from the neighbor’s air conditioner upstairs. Leaving me blinking in the darkness at 3:15am. Just staring. Waiting for sleep to muffle me. Smother me in its sweet blackness. Sleep.



The buzzing is dilating in my brain. Crescendoing and decrescendoing in a blur. Can sound become a blur? A blurry image? The haze of a desert morphing into a mirage along the horizon. Constantly seeing mirages. Whirring in a disappearing-and-reappearing act rapidly. A portal. 

Maybe the silence of my thoughts, that emptiness, opens that door. Maybe somewhere that door is hidden in the inner eye. Only makes sense for something missing to be hidden in a place no one can see. Like Amelia Earhart in the Bermuda Triangle or the missing Malaysian aircraft. I imagine Amelia in the black spot of that twilight zone, that fifth dimension. Toiling with her plane that took her there, trying to repair. Maybe flying the plane after it crashed down into that blackness. Broken in darkness. Maybe Amelia finally found friends among the Malaysian flight crew and passengers. In the nowhere zone of time and space. 


That’s where my thoughts lie. In the nowhere zone. Just lingering, gravity-less. It sounds freeing, doesn’t it? 

Then why is it always so horrifying? 

Maybe it’s freezing.

But to think nothing, is it really all that bad? 

Some people say there is no such thing as thinking nothing. Maybe this is just my memory following an elementary school thread, but I remember someone somewhere in my life saying that. Impossible! And I’ve been there now. I’ve been to the illusively impossible place. It’s like the air box breathing outside this therapist’s office. All their offices. Is it a reminder of my own emptiness? Or maybe a nod that I’m not alone. 

I’d like to think Amelia is piloting that Malaysian airline and is tracking her way through the air to glide them safely home. 


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