Mind

I sit here again, my laptop on my knee,

Or rather, lay back in my armchair

Next to the lounge window.

Before me lies the clutter that is

My man cave.

If I just stare I see every little item

In glorious detail.

Yet even when asleep

I swear to you

I sometimes dream of scenes

Images of tables, cities or skies

Every bit as detailed as real life.

Which begs the question:

Where exactly IS this wonderful “Mind” of mine,

That can so accurately record and reproduce

Such multi-coloured panoramas?

Is it just “in my head”

As scientists assert,

Or is it located “somewhere out there”,

Even beyond the stars?

Am I merely squatting

In this body of mine

Until the day that I pass on?

And when I do pass over

Will my soul go whizzing down

Some spiritual “connection”

Back to where my mind is based?

I say again, we may all be but cameras,

Recording films and “programmes”

For other minds

Beyond this realm.

Even for Angels.

For it’s only through US

That this marvellous universe

Is brought to life.

Paul Butters