I’m not average or ordinary or any of the nomenclature readily available. I have decided I am a variegated species cloaked in human form with spontaneous bursts of bird song, music streaming through the inner cortex of my existence, and words – strung every so abundantly on the tip of each of my fingers.
Being highly attuned is real, joyful and often painful. The magnitude of this state pulsates at such a vibration, I sometimes physically quiver.
A normal day can spin easily into Rimsky-Korsakov classical piece, The Flight of the Bumblebee or barely breathing a notch or two below sea level.
Some refer to these sensations as panic, fear, anxiety or depression, and sometimes they are. I also see each of these states more like whisperer thin passageways from a rapturous silk worm.
I balance between sadness, joy, a well of grief or pure delight, navigating each hour as it comes.
Therefore, with much effort, I recognize my need to temporarily shut down, if you may. To recalibrate the infrastructure of assimilating the sound waves, colors, scents and steady streams of emotional navigation (of my own and others).