#AtoZ2016 : S Is For Senses

I wonder sometimes
If I’m the only one who does.
I don’t think I am.
But I wonder.
Is it something social people do?
Or is it something people like me do?

I know we all have senses.
Taste,
Touch,
Sight,
Smell,
Hearing.
But I know too,
We all have them in different ways.
Different levels.

Like the blind.
Their sense of sight is damaged,
If not totally gone.

Or the deaf,
Who maybe can hear some,
And maybe not.

I know we all have senses.
And I know,
What my senses tell me
Is not what yours tell you.

So I wonder, sometimes.
As I sit, alone,
And feel.

As I feel the different temperatures
In the air around me.
The different air currents.
My sense of touch tells me of them.
When I stop.
When I pay attention.
I can feel so much.

I can close my eyes,
Touch my fingertips,
And feel the texture
Of my fingerprints.

I can even sit quietly,
And if I pay attention,
I can feel other things.
Like the rhythm
Of my pulse.
The texture of the clothing I wear.

I wonder,
Is that something others do?

There are times I sit,
On the sand at the beach,
Or on the ground,
In a park,
Or a nature preserve.
And I listen.

And I wonder,
Do others listen?
And if they do,
What do they hear?

Do they hear the sounds
Of the ocean’s waves,
Of the gulls, and terns,
The calls of an osprey?

Do they hear anything at all.
Or nothing.
Is everything they hear
Drowned out,
Washed away,
By life.
By stress.
By the things they do.

Do they ever see the way
The sunlight strikes the waves?
The translucent color of the water,
As it just starts to break.
The flash of light,
Sometimes ribbons,
Sometimes diamonds,
On the faces of the waves.

Do they see the ocean’s spray.
The sand moving along the beach
As the wind blows,
The footprints of the birds.

Or do they see nothing.
Save for a splash of color.
An opportunity to take a picture.
A moment to pause,
To take a breath,
And then return to the real world.
The world in which they work.

Music touches me.
The sounds of music resonate,
Echo,
Play endlessly,
Within my head,
My mind,
My heart,
My soul.

I cover my ears
And I can hear the endless ringing,
The electronic scream
That’s always there.
That never goes away.
From my damaged hearing.

But I can always hear
So much more.

I can always hear
The music that moves me.
That touches me.
That reaches past everything.

Until all the noise falls away.
All the responsibilities.
The work I do.
All of it falls away.

And I feel the music
Touch my soul.

And I wonder.
Does this happen to others?
Do they feel this too?

Or have the lost touch
With their body’s senses?
Have they become numb,
So that even music
Cannot reach them anymore?

Sometimes, I wonder,
Is that how senses work
For other people?
Is that normal?
Is that how people are?

Or are they like me?
Do they feel,
Hear,
Touch,
Smell,
See,
Like I do?

And is it my senses
That tell me I’m alive?

Perhaps I’ll never know.
Perhaps I’m not supposed to know.
Perhaps no one is supposed to know
How someone else’s senses work.

I only know for certain,
I would not be who I am
Without my senses.

They are a part of me.


It’s April 23rd, and I’m a still one day behind on the A to Z Challenge for 2016. I expect to catch up on Tomorrow. Only 7 more letters to write stories for this month.

Please, go explore the A to Z Challenge, and the sites of others who are participating in this adventure.

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Pulse

I know what it means.
I know the symptoms.
I can feel them.

The tension running across my chest.
The tenseness in the muscles.
As if I were trying
To hold up
A very heavy weight.
And slowly failing.
Soon to be crushed.

The pounding in my ears.
I know what that is.
My pulse.
Racing through my veins.
They tell me it’s not good
For someone my age
When my pulse does this.
Tops 3 digits.
100 beats per minute.
Or more.

The way my hands shake.
Endlessly.
I know the only way to stop them.
Press them down.
Hard.
Against a table top.
Or desktop.
Or wall.

And my knees never stop.
Ever.
They bounce.
My heels tapping out
Machine gun fire
On the floor.

When I try to think.
Try to talk.
Even to myself.
And all I get
Is scattered syllables.
Lots of no.
And I can’t.
Lots of endless,
Mindless
Repetition.

And nothing in my head
Makes any sense.
Other than one word.

Run.

Run like hell.

Don’t look back.

Don’t stop.

Run.

I know what this is.
I know what it all means.
I’ve been here.
Countless times.

Panic.

I tell myself to breathe.
I close my eyes.
I focus
What little of me’s left.
On the simple,
Single
Act.

Breathe.

Breathe in and know this truth.
I am breathing in.
Breathe out and know this truth.
I am breathing out.

Breathe in once again.
And then breathe out once more.

Breathe in the fear
That consumes me.
Overwhelms my mind.
Breath out the truth.
Fear is just a feeling.
Nothing more.

I focus on just breathing.
Looking into fear.
Knowing what will happen
If I let the terror
I am feeling
Consume me.

I breath in.
And out.
And remember.
Whatever happens on this day.
While I am at work.

It won’t be the end of life.
I won’t die.
I’ll be alive.
To take another breath tomorrow.
To feel the warmth of the sun.
To feel the breeze as it flows past
The fingers of my hands.

It’s just fear.
It’s just a feeling.
Nothing more.