Thinking is suffocating you

I looked into your eyes and saw you unthinking. I saw aliveness like a rainforest. I saw you receive the moment without a thought. Unanalysed. Unscreened. Unmonitored. Isn’t that life at its most seductive? Unknowable and immediate. Life emerging through thick canopy and vine. Life that sways and dips and bursts and shatters.

Thinking is a protector and a crutch. Thinking guides, it doesn’t live. How have you thought breathlessness into a kiss? Thought thieves attention. Enjoying and being are just enjoying and being. There’s no space for narrative here.

Can you trust yourself enough to run? Do you need that watchful eye? There’s a moment to release right here. A threshold for shedding. Quietly nudge overseer, questioner, teacher and preacher into the back rooms. Let them slip you messages in the gentleness of sleep.

Thinking-it-through is another form of delay. Another form of safety. You observe and pluck and prod with the tiny forceps of your mind. Again, you are calculating, measuring words against reality, as if there’s no room for imagination. Of drowning into life itself. To set aside the overseer. To set aside monitoring. To set aside narrative and thought. To set aside the spectator and to instead be the human being fully alive.

I think I glimpsed that in you. In your blackout. And it was thrilling to see.

“Night Grove” by Aron Wiesenfeld (2016)