Brain fog

The pressure draws near in a suffocating welcome of misty inaction, impossibly heavy yet real. The fog is back, the same oppressive blanket experienced before the brain surgery almost seven years ago. Only it is thicker now, more persistent in its attempts to subvert confidence in who I am as it relentlessly conjures false paths to fool me, to retain control.

“I see you.” I direct the words at my adversary: one of us must go. The mind is desperate to return, to dominate through fear and desire as it constructs the ego’s false urges. Its persistence is difficult to ignore in a weakened physical state. Verbalized reminders of “I see you” hold the line against the first wave, but barely.

My foe strikes at the heart of a life theme, of being left out of the day’s vitality. I see others moving seemingly forward. More likely, they are circling in material temptation’s dampening of understanding. The afternoon’s darkened repose is a trick, an attempt to infuse me with the illusion of self. It becomes harder to calm the mind from anxiety’s panicked hold. It drags me to the edge.

“Is this a test, or maybe Karma for some past deed?” The question is silent. Immediately I see through the ploy, the attempt to inflate a sense of personal worth in a universe so vast that the thought of permanent individuality is ludicrous. All is temporary.

I deserve nothing; I am entitled to nothing. I am, merely and grandly: I am.

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