Choice

The mind is a circle of three players

Doing, Thinking, and Feeling

Thinking is a labyrinth

A perpetual maze where perception

Shifts stimuli as either a door or wall

Dependent on the viewer

Feeling is a thermometer

A motionless gauge in which to register

Where one is relative to a base of normal

Chemically influenced by the only controllable variable

Doing breaks the system

Small actions achievable within the auspices of the individual

Fosters a seed germinating in accountability to the self

To jar one’s environmental status so that the other two may change

As much as one may desire happiness, purging depression

Or attempt to script or self analyze one’s self into harmony

Like a hand in the ocean or common magnetic polarity

Intention itself repulses definitive result

When the conscious and unconscious mind are in conflict

If one could deliver a valedictory to the ego and have the superego, id, and libido

Abide the mind would be abandoning its tiered structure

Of the frontal-cognitive, mid-emotive, and base-instinctual

We were primates, reptiles, fish, and floating microorganisms before we were humans

The genetic tree separates, but evolved on a common foundation of survival

To attempt to trump fight or flight with rational discourse is the dilemma of man

Floundering in our body’s attempt to return to the comfort of the worn road

We may battle in our dreams by letting go and have our mind conquer

Who we told ourselves we are with who we wish to be

Or

We can instill the cog of genetic life in an action of doing

To replicate in novel message to disrupt the system we know

So that in each repetition the plasticity of our brain

Remaps the highways of function

We uncover freedom by direct volition to do

This spawns the indirect circular counterbalance

Of a change in thought and feeling

Our thermometer recalibrates

The boiling and freezing points

Of hot madness and cool joy shift

The doors and walls merge, open and expand corridors of thought

So that we never exit the labyrinth, but the tiny housing of depression

May enlarge to continents and planets so that the idea of a prison turns into paradise

We return to the ocean in such ways, swimming, daydreaming, and breathing poetry