On the far side of this torrentially rainy afternoon, my chest is heaving with a heart full of anxious discordant speech -- I'm in afib -- I feel the distant planets warp and weft in space, and this spinning world, spinning out of place while Solar events stimulate our gyrating geomagnetic sphere, I'm here, catching my breath and listening too.
I feel these electric triggers of a planet gone askew -- sometimes all I can do is let the frenzy of cacophony play out -- while I bear down and lay for awhile on the ground.
It feels like hell though, having experienced abiding in the long rhythms of natural Peace, which I remember with a grin, it's as if now I'm agitated in the fires of Sin.
Nevertheless, I digress, I beseech, I reel, and then I faint from the pain in my chest; a pain with no upper limit, no crescendo, just a rising fugue with no hope of return -- I can't remember anything at all, then.
I'm riding it out, using a few tricks, where ignorance is my friend and not knowing my special talent -- I do this while writing, scratching out words, with many strokes of my ink spilling pens -- sitting in my studio, leaning over my desk, convalescing and trying not to think of what the future may bring.
However, and notwithstanding this constant reeling I feel, falling down I yet wonder, while looking for a spot to drop, I hear a distant thunder, my eyes see sparkles like crystal dew, flashing shards of reflection, in this my room with a view...
All my blood is pooling, in my misfit heart, spiralling around and around, and I cannot feel my heart beat, my heart beat, where is the beat in my heart?
Anyways, I keep on and push the discomfort away, as if I have some say -- my cardiologists give me drugs to escape this and espouse their killer strategy of murdering that part of my heart that reacts to my vagus nerves mysterious entreaties and tribulations -- with its rapid rise and sudden fall, with each opposite beat cancelling the flow, with each beat lost to the veto of this foreign request, my heart persists, as if trying to make me whole.
Why would an errant signal from my vagus nerve feel like the sky is falling, beseech me to run and hide? Is this the boy who cried wolf? It's as if my vagus nerve knows more than I, as if the world has lost its way, gone crazy, gone far astray, like a sheep in wolfs clothing.
I cannot feel my pulse -- I have no pulse -- only a slushing surge -- no beat, no rhythm, no tempo -- like my poems -- just noise. I listen to music now, half hoping that these natural rhythms, these jazz beats and blissful rising cannons can compete within me.
My mind is calm, relaxed, measured; I'm not stressed -- yet by my body signals, by my heart disrupted, tells me I'm in terror, waiting to die a horrible death, choking, trying to catch my breath.