Riding the Mind


I always liked the way The Catcher in the Rye was written.  It felt like his thoughts wandered all over the place and he took me along for the ride.  I thought I’d try that and see where my mind goes. I’d like to meet Salinger. I wondered if it was a character in his mind talking or if it was him. But I guess that would be one in the same. Is that how you get to be a famous author?  By having voices in your head?  If that’s the case I sure ought to be famous by now. I have a constant flow of chatter going on.

“Oh really?”

Uh, yeah.  I’ve even thought that book Conversations with God was something I could do easy enough.  Don’t we all talk to ourselves?

“Who are you talking to now?”

You, I guess.  Or an invisible audience.  I guess I should be talking to the one in my head, since the invisible audience doesn’t talk back.

“Whoa, wait a second.  That’s not altogether true.  You project all the time what people are saying and thinking about you.”

Well, sure.  But are they really?

“Well what’s real?  That pool you created over their head?”  Oh, I guess we should explain the pool.

“My mom said,” (See now the voice of one of my kids has chimed in to explain) “that everyone has an invisible pool over their head and when someone else is talking about them, it’s like pouring into their pool.  If it’s negative or nasty talk, that stuff hangs around over their head and they can’t really make it out.  But they can feel it.  And it weighs them down.  If it’s good talk, they feel lighter and their pool is clearer.”

Yes.  I do believe that. On some level, I have felt heavy and ….

“Thought that other people were talking about you, or had been adding muck to your pool.”

Yeah.  That’s why I try to bless people and not curse them.


Well, this has been interesting. Is there any more?

Strangely quiet in there.  Except for that distant ringing in the ears sound; those noises in your head when you are not thinking.  To me they sound like crickets at night, or the hum of a power station.  Maybe it is the power station.  That’s just up the street.  Where the white deer are.  They are supposed to be locked up behind the depot fence, but they get out now and then and wander up the road and sometimes into my back yard.  My back yard and crickets at night: reminds me that we plan to build a tree house to sleep in on warm summer nights.  I can’t believe I have someone who wants to sleep out in a tree fort with me.  I always feel like we are kids.  Just the way I did when I was young and had crushes on all of my brother’s friends.  And would sleep outside in tents, or just on a plastic lawn chaise with a sleeping bag looking up at the stars.  I used to see shooting stars every night and didn’t think they were much of a big deal.  Now I hear about meteor showers on the news and try to be sure I am outside to catch a few falling because I’m hardly ever out there to see them anymore.  Yeah.  That tree house is a good idea.