The Paragraph, as the mind.

The paragraph, as the mind.


Is this paragraph, the one that is not yet fully written, but rather being written here on this first and very important line, I mean second line, the gateway into my mind? Into a deep, unconscious, unknown world? Can things unconscious ever reveal themselves on the page, or are their mysteries doomed, under lock and key in the cavernous dungeon of the mind? What is a mind? A mind is a brain; but is a brain a mind? A brain is a compilation of tissue, of organic matter just like a tongue or a lung or a heart. There is something about a brain, a quality of exceptionality that makes it a mind, that makes it more important, more significant and more interesting than a lung or a heart or a tongue. Electrical pulses occur, thoughts, ideas, ponderings, broodings, contemplations, inklings, dreams, aspirations, ingenuity, hate, rape, murder, torture, love, destiny, kindness, virtue. Everything seen or known is only seen and known in the pink fleshy organic tissue that is mind that is brain that is the mush between our ears. What is an ear if not taught to hear, an awkward flap of skin and cartilage with no use on its own but only with the guidance of brain-mind, mind-brain? You see the girl you love, you say with all my heart, rather we all know full well that one cannot love with a heart. The heart is the machine; the heart sends crucial oxygen to the organs that cannot survive without it. Among these oxygen fiends includes the brain-mind, mind-brain. If the brain is who you are, everything that is inherently you, then the heart is everything you need. Without a functioning heart, the brain, the you, the all of us, will suffocate, every thought, idea, love, hate will cease to exist forever. Maybe we say we love with our hearts because love is not real; it makes no sense to the mind-brain, it is not a problem that needs solving, not a limb needing direction. Maybe love is an entity that exists outside the mind, outside the brain, outside respiratory and circulatory systems, above and beyond the electric pulse of life; maybe love is the heart, not in fact or science but in thought (of mind). Maybe love is simultaneously oxygen we breath and the carbon dioxide that we exhale. Maybe we need love as much as any element of life, yet again, maybe not. We will never know why our minds work the way they do, why we have been gifted/cursed with knowledge, reason, and the consciousness of impending death. Maybe, just maybe, we know the things we know because he/she(who?) has given us the gift to love and the curse of losing it. Our flesh is animal, but, our minds have evolved, as has the paragraph, without indentation, formless, and senseless.