You lay down just past dusk, your back on a forest floor. You are surrounded by tall trees. Eyes are open, skyward.
You listen. Before long, you become aware of a warm, static humming originating from the recess of your mind. Concentrating on the hum, you realize a mash-up of songs you have memorized, rendered in your mind’s perception of what your voice sounds like when you would sing along to them. Interspersed are the words from the last text message you received, rendered in your mind’s perception of the voice of its sender. Patched between the songs and the voices you hear your own thoughts; those you have been neglecting and those you didn’t even know had formed.
The mind is never fully quiet, even in the absence of distraction. It sponges stimuli and in their absence requires a wringing out to release this nonessential noise. When you find yourself truly alone, it naturally finds the means to disengage from external interference. When you first lay down, you cannot look up with an empty and clear mind to see stars beyond the leaves. Find balance in your breathing, hear the drain, feel release in the unclogging. Anything can become clean again, especially the overcrowding of consciousness.
Look again, beyond the swaying leaves on the trees’ upper branches, and your sight will find the stars. Their light reaches down to a consciousness thirsty to absorb its surroundings.
Eyes defogged, soul renewed.