There is a feeling that I don’t have a word for, which I suspect might be because there probably isn’t one for it. If I were to describe it, I would begin where it begins – in the chest at the solar plexus. It has connotations of urgency, it makes my fingers itch – crave the keyboard and a blank page. This feeling will haunt me until I have filled that blankness with words, but not just any words. If you picture for a moment a rainy autumn day, a room that’s poorly lit, cold air leaking inside through a window that’s slightly ajar, and the low-pitched roar of rain – I’d say you’re getting closer to what I’m feeling. This emotion is the one emotion I cannot ignore, because it makes my thoughts crawl along the length of my arms across my skin – like goose bumps pouring out of my fingers.

The words that appear on the page form an incandescent blur that I cannot really see. My eyes are stuck peering inward as they somehow just defocus. It brews inside my chest, this feeling, until it becomes a storm I have no choice but to brave. It is manic, insanity, and I dive head-first into it armed with nothing but inadequate words. I always stumble until I reach the harbour I always end up at, the one at the very core of what makes me who I am. Docked there, I watch as it rages through me. I observe from the inner eye of this storm. At this point my fingers tremble, but calm settles my mind.

For as long as I can remember I have waged a war against this emotion, fought the same fight time and again. It can be triggered by the simplest of things. I do not know why, but I do know that this intense need to introspect and search my soul is never going to go away. So perhaps it is not strange that I go a little crazy in my search for higher meaning, deeper purpose, in everything I do.

It has taken me a long time to build this harbour where I am currently anchored. However, now that I stare at the raging sea inside of my chest I begin to feel that I no longer need it. It’s not that I am confident in my ability to swim, but rather that I no longer fear the water – or the depths into which I might sink.

Sometimes I write because I have no other choice. I have no other choice, but even if I did, I am too hooked on this feeling to ever let it go. I am too committed to this war of mine to ever stop.

Even if it ends as abruptly as it began… 18 minutes later.


About Fredrik Kayser

Everything is connected.
This entry was posted in Thought Rants and More and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s