There is a head space I think we strive for. It’s a chance to get the hamster off the wheel or the monkeys out of the trees. To just shut it off and listen to the quiet. The unquiet mind is exhausting.

Do you know what I mean?

There is a pit of the stomach drop that I think we avoid. It’s the one that comes after trying and trying to get the baby to sleep and then a wail cuts through the silence. Drop. Or when you walk in a room and the people stop talking. Drop.

Do you know what I mean?

There is a flutter in the soul. It comes with light that refracts and shines off a perfectly still lake. It stares back up and causes that soul space to beam. Like if you could see inside yourself, you would glow for a moment. It is the zap of joy that comes from majesty.

Do you know what I mean?

There is that ache of sickness from the core, the one that nudges shame or rears its head at the sight of the broken or dying. The place that knows a helpless need.

Do you know what I mean?

There is that electric feeling, tingling all over, a giddy sort of thing. Right before you enter the haunted house and you just know they’re going to jump out, or when the surprise party moment has arrived and they’re here shhh they’re here shhh!

Do you know what I mean?

There is that gut void of loss. The break-up or the grieving kind. Intense vacancy. Ache. Pain in the center.

Do you know what I mean?

There is comfort. In the feel of the blankie or the hold of the hand. That softening of the edges, calming place. It is inside our homes with their own smells most of all, with the people or the things that we call ours.

Do you know what I mean?

All of this. It is how we are all the same. This is where our heads should go when we think we are not. When we think we are more or less or better or worse. We are all in the do you know what I mean. We are all underneath what we see or know.

The same.