The Pathway From My Brain…


The pathway from my brain to my mouth leads to you.

It starts in my brain. Just a couple neurons turning on and off, but it means much more.

A thought. An idea. A comment. A joke.

Zipping around my head, it develops. 

It acquires resilience. It acquires inspiration.

And just about the time where it starts to wonder if it’ll ever escape, it reaches the fence.

Cranial border patrol.

Emigrating thoughts must pass the test: do I intend to convey this to the world?

The thought trembles in its boots. 

Most thoughts turn around.

The weak stop there,


———————————————  the strong carry on.  ———————————————


It departs the brain with grit.

It departs with a purpose.

The pathway from my brain to my mouth leads to you.

Vocal cords strike a chord

And reverberate through the caverns of my windpipe.

The music gets slic ed, d i c e d, and cu t

To form syllables and stanzas, words and worldviews

And then are off on delivery

I cede control.

I’ve done all I can do.

From me…

            Floating on the breeze

                                 Through the space between us all

                                                                         Sound waves crash on the shore

                                                                                                  Of your front door

  …To you

Package delivered.


The pathway from my brain to my mouth leads 

To: you


As a package, it arrives. You might not be home. But chances are, I’ve planned it so you are. But you may not be expecting it, so I try to label it clearly. What’s in the box is quite obvious. Advice comes in handleable packages that you bring inside to open. Compliments have fancy wrapping on them, so you save them for later. Feelings are often heavy. You might need someone to help you bring it inside. Jokes are easy envelopes. Rip open and smile. My hope is that you take it inside because I didn’t use all that packing tape for it to be left in the cold. 

  • Maybe I send the similar packages to multiple addresses, but that doesn’t mean yours is any less special.  
  • Maybe it loses its intention along the route, and it ends up at your door distinctly removed from what I meant. 
  • Maybe I hid it under the doormat because your neighbors don’t need to know that the postman dropped something off at your door today.
  • Maybe I wrapped it in loud wrapping paper, so your neighbors can’t help but hear that you’ve got mail.
  • Maybe, just maybe, the package is just what you needed. A home cooked meal on a busy week. Duct tape for a leaky pipe. A good book. Earplugs. That would make me happy. 

I hope to hear from you soon.

From: Darren