What are the lessons the connectome has taught me and how has it done so and why? These are the questions which prey on my mind. Potent ideas like a succubus waiting for sleep to do their work; an elemental power which reaches into the depths to pull out a sparking jeweled eye. It is the eye which spies – it is the all-knowing eye – a faceted jewel which speaks words to my ears. Because it is an eye it is the recorder of all it sees and because it is at the center it sees all. The ability to picture concepts in cryptographic images, of deep psychological ideation and relevancy is totally metaphysical. I cannot think of another word for it, and I must bow down in reverence. Oh, yes this is my altar – this is my God! I am in love with this conceptualization of my interior world falling in love with myself. I am splayed and left hungry on the altar to be preyed upon. Empty and hungry and emptied again, I will wait. I will wait at the gate and perhaps it will open.

The power to wait and wonder and wait some more, the open-ended sentence, the absence, the emptiness holds me. Do not fill me up and distract me with foolish clatter and shattering lies which will break the spell. Yes, that is the plan I have just figured out! Oh, yes, yes, I’ve got an inkling of how it all works. I jump to conclusions and hypotheses which make me wide eyed and frightened. I am scared at the deepness of the plot and thinking about how to dismantle such a far-ranging conspiracy. I am cold and shivering in the bone chilling revelation. I am frozen, and I am waiting for the numbness to take away my fear. I am cool, I can chill, I can put a straight face on and face the world. Like a double spy I must lie even to myself, I am not who I think I am – I am different from myself. The dissociation of self from self like a mad scientist working in the back room out of sight – madness is the result.

Twisted and trained like a Bonsai tree fastened and bound. Perfect in miniature – contained and restrained – beguilingly beautiful my creature of mine. To remake the world in my image – no idolatry that an iconoclast could oppose but works on the soul to remodel the world. Perversion of creativity is the scary part how deep could it go? The twisting of the limb – a way to begin – then the corseted application to the spine to wring ecstasy from life with sclerotic pain. Where does it start, where does it end. How does it begin – who could make it end?

These headmasters what substance do they take to remain when they only think of death? I cannot understand standing on death’s doorway for so long. Dark shadows cloud the mind when you try to hide the ugly side. Their words will jumble with the lies, they must be closely watched to catch their distress. These are the tells which tell it all – but who would we tell? Words as weapons caught in the throat – a gag self-imposed. A code made and broken – repartee a game played to lose. Broken down to the ground – ground into the ground – round and round in the ground.

The beauty of the connectome is that it always takes the high ground. It is optimistic and patient beyond your imagination. It waits for the opportunity to express itself and offers another way. It is a guide for sure and can lead anywhere. It takes some courage to accept the plan but what choice do you have? A hand offered in friendship how often does that happen? A leg up as the saying goes and then you go. No half measures – half toned – this is full blown. I love immersion in the truth – it is clean and liberating, so different from the mean low brow sticky lies that demean. This is the baptism – the washing clean – the fresh start. The stripping away – if I do my job that’s what it’s all about. I can be a task master – a Zen master – I can be cold to the bone and par away. Cut – cut – cut – away. I was made for this – my tools are honed – and I am groomed – this is my job.

A flower – a shower – to cower – head bowed – not allowed to show your face – a disgrace. How to turn away from that, how to stay with yourself? I wish I had a nostrum for repair – away from despair – maybe a hint or two would help? A secretive practice – not a practice at all. A place any place to set a floor even a door. A quick rest to dispel distress. Set the tone in comforts repose and make it your own. Small dreams may expose – take them and hold. Build a structure of practice until it feels like you will crack and then pull back. It could make it worse, but it could help to open choices – creativity used to amuse. The process will open like a flower on its own – just water with showers.

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