I fumble for the light switch.
Then I remember that when it is dark in here, it is dark.
The four-billion-year-old sun does not shine through; no lamp fixtures, no burning candle, no moon shining shyly between pulled curtains, no windows.
But when this brooding cat opens its glowing eyes, like two exploding planets, the swirls of fiery yellows, olive, and lime bursts into light, and I have to find my balance.
In these thick perplexing woods, I never know when my mind will shut like a clam. But I learned to sense the storm, the way humans - over thousands of years learned to listen for the bending blade of grass, the dancing crab, the fidgeting of a snake inside its burrow.
The worst thing about being in my head is also the best thing. The best thing is also the worst. There is no way out.
