Continuing...
It hasn't gotten easier, to write on this. I can feel part of myself "relapsing" and feeling the urge to retract, to keep my thoughts in. It's like when you take too much time off something or take your mind off a task, you begin to lose your momentum. It reminds me of a snowball rolling down a hill, getting bigger as it accumulates more snow. When it plateaus, it begins to melt. I think that's why anything mental is so challenging. As you're rolling down the hill, you can feed off your own speed and a little distraction doesn't stop you because your momentum is an assurance. But, if you become distracted for too long, you start to slow down.
I guess I'm wondering what's in this slow down. Is it a twilight before the halt? A dooming time frame. Or is it its own thing. Is it a state just as awesome as the roll down?
This is what I wonder. It surely must be okay because it follows the roll down (i.e. a time of change).
I'm not sure if this is making any sense, but I feel like there are periods where you feel like you can get yourself to any mental state. Like you can change for the better (the rolling down the hill). Then there are times where you feel like you just have to take the back seat as your mind goes on a joy ride.
My mind surely isn't taking a joy ride (thank god), but on some level I do feel different than I did a few months ago. I would hate to say I've gotten used to things, because that has a different connotation than I intend. Instead, I feel like I have learned how to get around my environment easier. When I first got to Austin, everything was so foreign that I constantly had have my head up. I didn't know how to get around, or even where to go in the first place. I now get around the city without maps, and I can do things without even thinking about them.
To bring this all back, I wonder what it means to have a better grasp on my environment. Will I begin to go on auto-pilot again (that is, the snowball beings to slow down and I'm stuck in my old ways.)
Honestly... I don't think so. I'm not the same as I used to be. That tumble down the snowy hill really shook me up, it woke me up. I learned skills along the way. I am learning skills along the way. There are so many things I learned about myself that I wasn't able to realize until now.
So, I feel like this is a twilight. But this twilight doesn't lead to nighttime and darkness. This twilight came from the daylight and will lead to more daylight right after.
This twilight takes place in the photo NASA just took, deep in other galaxies. I'm flying through space and supernovas and stars. I'm no longer on earth, but looking at what's beyond it.
And if my mind does take its own joy ride, it won't get me back to earth.
On every new planet I land on, the different array of minerals and humidity affect me differently... and I let them. I let the taste of iron take its course, and I let the dampness from the fog around my legs slow me down. I let the creatures view me. I let the creatures take me in, and I listen to the part of myself that wants the same. There's no need to build a wall because I haven't even learned how using the minerals on this planet. I learn that I love building walls. I notice that my hands still mime the movements of building a wall out of habit (now I don't know what to do with my hands.) It turns out that there is no chemical compounds to build a sturdy wall on this planet. So what do I do with my hands? If the creatures do not call me, do I go anyway?
As I fly through the galaxy, my eyes close often, but only because I'm sleepy. I don't turn a blind eye because I forgot how to do that.
And I can finally connect with the creatures I find because I realized that I finally want to.
It turns out that I'm made of the same stardust that I'm flying through. And no amount of toxins can alter my state, as toxins diminish rather than accumulate as you fly through space. Any impure substances eventually fade, just as the fog did around the planet I'm now revisiting.
I don't know where the toxins go, I think they degrade back into something pure. After all, they were made from the same stardust as everything else.