The Fugue of Reflection

 

Sitting on the couch with the lamp on beside me I see my reflection on the blank TV screen, right side in light, left side in darkness.

The existence of a body, my body, seems oddly surreal though I guess it is as natural a thing as a thing can be, but not to me.

My thoughts sit in a place somewhere outside my head, not fully tethered to that squishy organ inside a hard encasement atop my neck.

They should be able to go where they will, and they do, but home base is home base and I can’t seem to escape the burden of my body.

I wonder if this is what it’s like to be dead, unencumbered by the body and free to roam the known and unknown universe as a spirit.

Maybe it’s just the wine starting to kick in and sever the mind-body connection with fuzzy feelings of disconnection and supposition.

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