Asking the brain

Last week I was lying awake in the dark, and as always I was trying to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it, how did this begin and how to go forward, and as always I asked my brain what do I do, what do you need? How can I help? What is wrong? And so forth.

This time I did more listening than talking.

Or rather, I should say that while I am usually met with a silence, a stunned silence, or a sad silence, or a confused and searching silence, this time the brain was showing me things.

It was telling me how hard it works, how we are in this together, how it doesn’t know what is wrong, meaning what is causing all the trouble, but it is always scanning and scouting, rebooting, reorganizing, trying to heal.

It told me how it works continuously and how much it does, how much it used to do effortlessly. And how its like a ship with many rooms, and rooms keep flooding and going off kilter and off line and the boat keeps getting rocked and so it has to reorganize again, and it doesn’t know where the storms are coming from. It’s like being a small wooden and bone boat in a vast stormy ocean.

And it told me one of the greatest challenges now is how it works to keep things separate, that it is really a huge job to keep information housed and alive in one space from running at the same time as other info, that it is like a hundred movies want to run simultaneously, like chaos, and that is very hard to orchestrate things so that they don’t happen all at once.

Which I guess would burst the whole bubble of being.

So it's like a zoo on a ship with hundreds of movie screening rooms all linked together in a secret cellular beehive way and it's trying to keep the wild animals in their separate habitats on a large and surprising sea with stars above and monsters below

The mind is a miracle. The brain is a miracle.

Sit down you’re rocking the boat.