Feeling of Being

Feeling of being,
Trapped, yet also free.
A mind always raging,
In hundreds of places and times,
Simultaneously.

The body stuck in place,
Lacking arms to feel,
Legs to move,
Voice to speak.
Existence, limited to eyes to see, but never speak.
Existence, limited to a brain to think, think, always to think.
Possibility left to inactuality,
A reality not able to cope. So limited.

Feelings pass, pondering changes, shifts.
Never stops.
From place to place, phases of the moon.
The constriction never does,
Getting used to the constriction, to calm the mind,
To incapacitate the mind from it’s ponderings.
A process of life,
Of living.
Of thinking, while living.

The feeling of being,
Being with feeling.


This may sound like a sad poem, not at all, thinking about Asbergers. It’s seen as a lesser Autism, and in some ways I totally agree, it’s less visible. But also that can be a problem. Like a person without legs, arms, voice, hearing. One able to only see, think and limited to the confines of the mind. A reality never able to live up to the endless possibility.

Talking reduced to a, self-confining, to be a sense of ‘normality’ or otherwise a closing off. A closing off, because, everything else, just isn’t enough. Yet other times it is. It’s, as with everything difficult to say.

Probably the easiest way I can describe, most people can relate to busy, excited times where so many thoughts are running through your head, you start one, and another and another on to 10+ ideas, but finish none. You’re mouth cannot keep up, like doing 4 projects at the same time, bouncing off one to another, each feeding into the others.

Instead of this being a project or a time, or a short burst of speed-working.
Imagine, this all the time. From working in the library, bagging groceries, cooking rice at home, playing video games, watching videos or films, at work. Almost doing everything apart from sleep (and that is only because I am not conscious when I sleep, when lucid dreaming it’s also like the aforementioned).

It’s difficult. It’s not ‘hard-work’ always working. It’s just, my head. Things popping into, being reconfigured and re-perceived.

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