What’s on my mind? The problem is, you sit in class, or a boardroom in a high rise office building, or within some congregation, say, at a recital or a baptism, but can’t just sit there . You observe yourself, as you’ve been taught, from outside yourself. A witness to your breathing, visualizing it: understanding, but not quite understanding, that most of what you’ve pulled into your lungs your whole life, isn’t oxygen at all. And that you’re a fool for thinking so flippantly for so long about an exchange so potentially deadly. That this meticulous mixture is a wondrous thing hardly considered moment, to moment, to moment. And how something very scary, full of cosmic witchcraft propels your heart muscle to twitching like a restless fist-sized alien in a ribbed calcium cage, a body zoo you transport everywhere you go. And they wonder why you can’t concentrate. Larry D. Thacker is a Kentuckian writer, artis...
Like the title says.