The Mind...

*Disclaimer* This post may have things some individuals may find offensive. If that is the case, I apologize for upseting but will not apologize for believing as I do.

What makes up the human mind, the workings inside the head that urges people to do things unseen but heard and imagined? Sweetbread and blood, encased in bone but all the while thoughts plucked from some ethereal Otherworld dance between neurons. Is it God or some variation thereof? Or is it merely the wild imagination of the Ego, developed through childhood and experience?

The mind, the things thought and maybe brought to light, can be a terrifyng thing but beautiful in it’s own way. Artists, musicians, politicians, murderers and others all have their minds to thank for the creations they spew upon the earth.

Be it God or Ego or Other, all things thought and brought to light begin in the vast anonimity that is Mind…

All things thought and imagined have and are energy and energy must exist somewhere or it is nothing. Be it a piece of art, a book, a treaty, a body laying broken and bloody on the floor, all things in the mind exist in one way or the other, on this Plane or Others. One may argue that the horrors commited by murderers can not be held or concidered as anything more then atrocities and while true, they, the ones that did the deed, in their own warped and twisted minds find what they do beautiful, as beautiful as an artist completing a portrait or a musician creating and aria. Who are we, with the same base instincts, to say someone is better or worse at using their imagination then we?

I do not claim that murder or torture is right in any way, for it is horrible truly. I merely muse that some use their boundless imagination for some things, their minds steeped in the imagined blood of their victims like salve to a wound.

Perhaps the same can be said for the artistic mind, the paintings, the ink, the costumes or music used in the same way; a balm for a tortured soul? The mind, the imagination can be a terrible place, thoughts pestering the soul, if there is such a thing, like so many stinging bees. But also, those bees can sooth and coddle the mind, lulling it and tending it into a dim flicker of it’s former brilliance…

But as I said, thought is energy and energy must exist in some form. Physical is the most common, the most real in a sense. But on the other hand there is a more ethereal form in a hidden place. Call it the mind, call it Heaven, call it the Astral Plane but all things called fantasy or whimsy exist there, real as anything else. The heros and heroins of fantasy, the unnamed images and creatures in paintings, imaginary friends from infantile minds of children, they become real and live in these Other Realms as we live in ours. Even things non-living exist there, concepts and abstracts all come into being from the minds that thought them up, perhaps bound to their creators as humans are connected to theirs.

That is assuming that there is a God or whatever it deigns to be called, for it only exists if humans know it and call it’s name.; our faith, our following gives it it’s power to exist and when a particular incarnation fades fromt he human mind, so too does it. But something worshipped for long never truly dies when it’s followers stop following, it merely fades, waiting for it’s time to rise again and flow into the next incarnation of human faith.

It’s all a matter of the human mind and the human mind is a mutable, fickle, sometimes ugly thing…