Not thinking too much makes my head hurt.

In the early evening, with twilight still in the midst of blotting out the day and another August dog day of school under my fur, I decided to head out to one of my favourite areas of Onomea Bay, just ten minutes out of town. It only took a few minutes of time spent down there for me to confirm that there is indeed something about that place that rejuvenates my soul and leaves me in a state of tranquility and content. It's only a short walk down the disrepaired cliff side road which crosses a bridge and turns into a path bisecting the spectacular botanical garden. The trail turns to gravel, descends some stairs, and drops straight into a forested stream. Hell, everything is forested down there, save for the lone grassy point, upon which sits a single lonely palm tree. Late in the afternoon, the atmosphere is so conducive to good spirits. All the botanical garden employees went home at 5, meaning no one would sneer at you for walking by the gates. 9 times out of 10, there's no one down there at all. It's when I creep up to the edge of the point that I feel that warm and friendly, yet cooling and heavy trade wind caressing all of me as it rolls up from the ocean much like the waves. The sky is usually carpeted with cloud cover, creating celestial textures, and I can still faintly hear the chirping of the frogs back in the rainforest. The sound of the humble stream congregating with the wavelets sent by the proud ocean also contributes its share to the overall serenity.

It's here that I can truly sit or stand around for a great length of time and allow my mind to drift as I soak up the beauty. I can think out, sometimes even act out, things that trouble or concern me. I convinced myself that the particular spot was crawling with benevolent spirits that crept into me and made me feel little short of ebullient for the whole time I was there. In the end, it all amounts to one exceptional release. It would be an ideal place to camp, with its large, flat grassy spot, but of course, it isn't allowed. At the very least, I would like to bring a sleeping bag sometime and spend a few hours down there, making my way out before dawn leads to the discovery of me.

In other news, I have an upper molar that has been giving me a mite of pain recently, but only when it's impacted to some degree, as when I shake my head hard or run or jump. Cavity, mayhaps? Either way, if it gets any worse or severely tiresome, I'll definitely face up to my intimidation of going to the dentist. It's been a little too long, anyway. Who seriously goes every six months? Also, I took the screening test today for the campus library job I'm attemping to get. It wasn't anything too difficult or taxing. I was simply handed a guide that showed how to categorise under the Library of Congress Catalog, and another sheet of paper which had me apply the concepts in order to test how well I could follow instructions and absorb the information. I'm certain I did fine, so hopefully I will get lucky. As for my courses, I feel fine about them, as well. Even though I'm taking three extra credits, I feel less intimidated by my courses than I did last semester. This may very well be because I had to write around 80 pages of research/assignments in the spring, and will have to do less than half that this time around. Finally not having a writing intensive course helps.

I would also be glad that tomorrow is Friday, if my utter lack of plans for the weekend didn't actually depress me.

As of late, my desire to release some of my deeper, more intimate thoughts to the world through my writing has been strengthening. I am aware that it's something I haven't been doing lately, though. My entries seem more matter-of-fact than anything, anymore, and not so speculative as they once were. I routinely have all these amazing, fascinating thoughts swirling through my head. Conjuring them up is easy; putting them into words is not. Language fails me much of the time, and that's why I'm simply silent much of the time, just lost in my own head. After all, language only goes so far, especially for a right-brainer like myself. If I were to attempt to put many of the sorts of things I imagine and think about into words, it would likely make very little sense to anyone but myself. Actually, it probably wouldn't make any sense to myself, either. I can't hope to describe what beauty is to myself or anyone else, certainly. It's something I feel, deep within me, seemingly buried under far too much rubble to ever be excavated by language's pickaxe. And yet, I subconsciously try to describe it to myself every time I feel it, as if I am trying to rationalise it, as if I need the assistance of language in order to fathom it. I suspect things may be much easier if I train myself not to do such a thing. I have been trained all my life to think in terms of language, but my ability to relish, savour, and memorise may be only embellished and enhanced by refusing to apply the subject to language or vice versa. It only makes sense when considering the limitations of language as opposed to the vast array of stimuli to perceive. Just let it flow into you, Neal. Words could never flow -that- well. And that is perhaps the reason I get these cravings to have someone by my side experiencing the same beauty as I do at the same time. I don't have to describe it to them, because if they are anything like me in any meaningful way, they probably feel it too, in its genuine essence, which is all that really does it any justice. Certainly not a blog entry about it.

Well, that was a fairly intimate thought, so I may just be turning things around. That concludes tonight's terribly disjointed musings.