Tales Of A Migraine
There is this lucidity one gets post migraine, as we watch it leave... The storm has not only stopped brewing, but you see the tornado departing, and the clouds clearing, to reveal this bright beautiful cerulean sky, in all its glory. And everything is clearer in a way where you realize beforehand you had been in a haze.
The worst kind of haze, the kind that overtakes you slowly and convinces you that you're not in a haze after all, and what is normal after all? And you didn't realize you were seeing everything through the eye of a tornado before, until it has become so blissfully clear again... It's like a deserved beauty we get to experience after having fought with a beast. Too bad being at the precipice is so short-lived though, and it seems the harder one grasps at staying, the sooner it slinks away like sand through the fingers...
While I'm here, though, at the top, before I begin the inevitable descent into the next bout with the beast, it's like taking in a deep lungful of mountain air, and being able to *taste* the salient smell of the pine needles underneath my feet, and being completely tuned in to the faintest smell of honeysuckle wrapping around the remnant of the moisture in the air from that last rain... And it's like being able to feel all of your pores actually *understanding* that it has just rained, and every cell in your body is vibrating with the truth of that leftover frequency and your mind -- a song -- one song, with the currents of air swirling around you. The migraine, the most potent drug, leaving you though, with its salubrious wave like a lifting mist of endearment, telling you it has not forgotten you, and here -- this one last little gift of clear sight... Perhaps making it seem like maybe it was all worth it. But no. If only it could always be this clear all of the time.
Tales of a migraine.
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