Sometimes, my brain is like a runaway train.
Not the little namby-pamby one you see in some theme parks where it pretends to be out of control, and children squeal. No, in that one, you know you’re on a track that will take you safely back from whence you came. Instead, my brain is like an old, rickety locomotive carrying a full, heavy load of worries, fears and thoughts that have no apparent reason for existing and cannot be explained.
This locomotive uncontrollably plummets down the side of the mountain, scooping up wayward cattle in its cowcatcher or busting through landslides that have covered the rails.
Nonstop
on a maniacal mission.
Lurching and bumping and veering around corners at breakneck speed.
Any attempt at slowing down, let alone breaking, is ineffectual and a waste of time.
No distraction works.
As it turns out, the thing to do is to wait it out. To go with the momentum. Follow gravity without fighting. Trying not to get dizzy from the inability to focus on the landscape. Until I get to the bottom of the mountain
where I move from perpendicular to horizontal.
The train loses speed gradually until it comes to a complete stop, and I arrive at a resolution or at least an acceptance of sorts.
And I get off not too bad for wear.
Ink And Spine 