The monsters my mind creates
Last weekend, I ventured up to Sea Ranch, just 2½ hours northwest of San Francisco. It's a beautiful, architecture-driven community that popped up alongside the coast back in the 1960s.
The homes have such a distinct angular simplicity to them; all adorned with redwood and other native timber. Even though the weekend was the epitome of relaxation, I wrestled quite a bit with my mind.
Where Sea Ranch is located, there's very little light pollution. The dark is truly itself—dark, deep, and penetrating. And the stars and moon get to be fully seen for who they are: bright beacons, adorning the night sky.
After a few hours of driving, an evening filled with laughter, cannabis, and a record player blasting out the likes of Barbra Streisand, Bob Dylan, and Peter, Paul, and Mary, I settled into the comfy king-size bed.
As I began drifting off to sleep, I noticed a few big windows along the ceiling. While the windows in the room could be closed off by shades, these windows couldn't be covered.
This scene brought me back to my childhood, being so afraid of windows at night. Who was looking back at me? Who was out there? Who could see me, but I couldn't see them?
It's amazing the ways a mind can fill a canvas when there's nothing there. Lying in bed, I quickly found myself back in that childhood, black-window fear. These vivid images began popping into my mind's eye. It was only for a split second: A monstrous figure. I don't remember its color, shape, or any details, but I felt the creep of fear move throughout my body.
In the split second after, I shifted my mind into the lovely day I had with my dear friend. The breathtaking sights at the top of the tallest lighthouse on the West Coast. The adorable presence of the lighthouse's regal, if sad-looking dog.
This interplay went back and forth several times.
My mind shoved a dark silhouette of a human figure in the window. Another frightening picture, while the other part of me simply wanted to drift off to sleep.
It was a familiar enough experience that happens often in my daily life. No monsters or ghost-like humans lurking in windows. But in these small thoughts that pop into my head: Why hasn't he gotten back to you? What was that look about? Are you really sure about your safety, stability, love?
This part of my mind raises doubts and fear where there doesn't need to be any. A rather frequent parade of unsavory visitors. Ever since that night, I've been much more aware of the thoughts coming into my mind.
And at the same time, wondering: Where do these monsters and monstrosities hide? Where are they when they aren't at the forefront of my consciousness?
The entire episode in that home in Sea Ranch reminded me of the depths of the mind, and the way it can run wild, not always in the interest of me, its host.