My vision blurs in and out of focus and I struggle to maintain the upright position of my head. It lolls to my right and my neck strains to push back, but the weight of my lopsided mind is overwhelming. At best, I tilt forward and back. I can feel the force of unspoken words pressing against the inside of my face, but nothing comes out. No sounds beyond uncomfortable breaths, bordering on hyperventilation, gasping breaths aching to voice their desperation, but absolutely unable. Unable to speak. Unable to focus my eyes. Unable to stabilize my spinning head. Unable to lift my heavy limbs. My body has been filled with sand and it takes every last ounce of my strength to shift my gaze in the general direction of someone who can help me, but it is unlikely that they will notice that anything is wrong.

Sometimes I am quiet, and there is nothing unusual about that. If I am lucky, they might notice the ragged quality of my breathing. If they ask if I am okay, perhaps I will be able to mumble something that sounds like “mm hmm.” But they probably won’t ask if I’m okay. Because I’m always okay. And this will pass as it always does and I will try to forget the feeling. This feeling of floating away from my lead-filled bones. Floating above and looking down on this useless sack of water and flesh and hair and nails and teeth and clothes. I can try to push my life force back into it to speak, but the effort is not worth the reward, so instead I just float and watch and wonder when the body will draw me back inside. At some point it will return control to whoever I am. I’m not sure if I’m the rightful owner of the body, but it usually allows me to do with it as I will, but not always. Sometimes it does this. Sometimes it refuses my services, refuses my insights, refuses my suggestions. Sometimes it blurs its vision and doesn’t allow me to see through its eyes and doesn’t allow me to use its vocal cords to share my ideas or thoughts and sometimes it denies me the usage of its limbs and aggressively forces me outside. It reminds me that my perceived control is merely that, perceived.

I wonder if all bodies are capable of being this willful, but are mostly satisfied by the decisions and thoughts of the minds that have access to their functions. Or are all minds capable of escaping the confines of their flesh shells, but are not aware of this skill and are thus imprisoning themselves? Is the body the captor or the captive? When I am pushed out, it feels as though the body is in control more than the mind, but perhaps it is a more subconscious aspect of the mind that is escaping the body, rather than a part of the body expelling the mind. Perhaps something in my mind is simply showing me or reminding me that we are not necessarily attached to this body and that we have the ability to interact with beings and life outside of ourselves on a far deeper level. We needn’t fear this escape, but instead should try to view it as an opportunity for deeper self-awareness. And if it is possible to harness it in a way, perhaps we can use it to enter or effect the bodies and minds of others. However, I don’t think that is something I would want to do, except for the purpose of expressing affection and positive feelings to others…