Stream of Consciousness

Here I go – the one usually unable to leave behind structure. The rigid one who can’t change plans or shake routine or allow spontaneity. Today I drift, allowing myself to feel purple and ignore the white-walled sharp cornered windowless room of my usual surrounding thoughts. Here I am writing senselessly about the warm glow of the lamp like the sun on a summer’s day when you close your eyes and still see the blue cloudy sky as your body conforms to the shifting sand underneath the towel. Or does the sand conform to your body? It doesn’t matter; I can’t go back and change ideas here because I’m only moving forward towards some sort of revelation I may achieve by continuing to spout out words with no rhythm like an old wooden rocking chair where a mother sits reading to her 3 month old while playing Mozart because she wants him to be smart. On the wall there is a picture – but unlike pictures, people change. It takes two pictures, probably more, to really illustrate the changes over time, but if you really know a person you can see the changes inside them, like how the maturity grows and the emotions take a ride on a rainbow: red to yellow back to orange, a little blue and indigo, some green, violet, pot of gold. But really, here’s the thing – perhaps the final revelation: that if you read what a person has written – a diary of sorts – you’ll notice the truth…People don’t change as much as you think they do. Maybe not even at all.