On waking up…
I head for the bathroom,
Customary early morning port of call.
Through sleep-encrusted eyes
And a still-fuddled brain,
Still remembering fragments of stills
Making up the bizarre, virtual soap-drama
My mind acted out just a few hours ago,
And holding the handrail in my head to steady myself,
Not wanting to succumb to mind-sickness…
My body readjusts, settles and wakes a little more,
Which and what is reality?
That strange and curious world in which my mind,
Disengaged from this body, this shell, this earthly temple,
That slumbered and slept, recharged and rebooted itself,
And engaged in the scrambling of a multi-coloured collage,
Sum total of memories and future hopes,
All mixed together, shaken and stirred,
This earthly plane, that suddenly hits me like 2 wet flannels,
Smack in the face!
With a subtle degree of agitation I observe
The 2 flannels, wet and extremely random,
Sitting scrunched up, perched on the bath handrail!
My agitation rises a notch or two…
Is this reality?
My annoyance that my husband failed to leave…
The now infamous wet flannels…
In a nice orderly and tidy fashion?
Would not have left them so!
Never in a month of Sundays!
Annoyance turning to exasperation!
Is this what Man calls Reality?
I do not think so.
It cannot be so?