I trust in the plasticity of the human brain.
Sitting in deep thoughts, realizing I have thought these thoughts before and I rarely realize new deep things I deliberate and determine to go to bed rather than chance the arrival for a rare new thought.
In sustaining joys, jarring absences by death, by geography, by time, by recycling things in mind churn and churn and I resolve to rest to be more adept and acute for the next day of new circumstances and the assurances of familiar uncanny echoes and reliable routines.
Wisdom and time give ballast. In practiced, palliative breaths shivers of memory are expelled through my arms and fingers and absorbed into bone and blood and meat to be borne quietly for guidance and haunting.
Dilemmas become routine, as for everyone. I exhale and go to solid sleep.
I trust in the plasticity of the human brain.
