Jungle Brain

"I just feel like my mind is always racing. I just want it to slow down, ya know?" Jared, staring at one of those white popcorn-looking walls, had the expression of a sage meditating atop a Peruvian ruin.

"Let's just sit with that," said the therapist, tapping her notepad with an expression indicating just the slightest amount of concern. She sipped her light brown latte. Was it caramel flavored? Jason wondered. 

"Ah." He scratched his head. He thought her name was Jennifer. How can I not remember her name? I'm such a piece of shit. Oh wait, need to go back to my obsessive thoughts about the meaninglessness of life. If Jennifer sees me doing this, maybe she'll intuit a solution.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Oh just doing my usual rumination." He laughed with his fake laugh and could tell the therapist noted that. If she wanted this sitting with his feelings to get results, he would be surprised. He was annoyed that he wasn't thinking any interesting thoughts. But wait. Maybe he shouldn't be concerned with the interesting nature of his thoughts. Just let them be? Maybe the point of this was to feel confused and not to know answers. Maybe this therapist was using a trick that she knew could help him in this moment. Why the fuck was he thinking these thoughts? Why couldn't he just think normally like everyone else? But wait, gotta counter that with self compassion. Already did step one (this sucks). Okay, step two: Everyone has these thoughts. Step 3: May I be kind to myself. Nice how that works until the literal moment I stop practicing? Can she tell I have a psycho brain just by looking at me. She's looking away from me. Has she checked out? Of course she hasn't, this is her job. What if she doesn't like me?

"What's coming up for you?"

"That's a loaded question," he laughed. He thought about her nice tits. No use bringing that up. That would be rude. "I feel like my mind is a jungle that I'll never escape from."

"Maybe stop trying to escape," she suggested.

"The jungle kind of sucks though."

"Yes," she said. She had a slight laugh that comforted Jared. He rubbed his wrist and breathed deeply through his slightly-constricted throat. 

"Is it like this for everyone?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes. I haven't met one client who's got a perfect brain aligned with what they want to be thinking. Seems like everyone's brain is thinking of horrible shit all the time."

"Then how do we manage?"

"We allow the thoughts and then come back to our values," she said. He felt annoyed at how easy she made it sound. Why did he find this so hard? Why did he feel like every weird thought needed a resolution, an answer? Why was he not okay with being not okay? Where did this come from? 

Where did this come from. He imagined the swirly Looney Tunes show endings and wondered if the swirls could go on infinitely. He could slow down Bugs Bunny's voice, deepen it like a scary movie. And maybe he'd enter the swirl into another dimension and end up in outer space. But what if he could breathe just fine out there? Would he see his breath like on a cold day in Maine? He wondered if it would be weird to see the northern lights from behind them.

It's late, and it's Autumn, the watcherman's boaaats come retuuuurrrrning. He could imagine hearing Dan Fogelberg's voice in the background. Perhaps he wouldn't need airpods to hear it, the voice would just come from space. Or wait. Maybe it would come from within him. 

In this jungle, perhaps he could find some gems beneath the surface. Perhaps he could spend more time focusing on the gems. What's the alternative? Always wallowing in the muck? What the fuck is muck?