Mania?

What bloody mess it all can be. Other times, it's like a long and beautiful nascent garden on a perfect first spring day. A waxing moon, a cool night with thin air. Sometimes the universe rings its magical bells, sounds harmonize in resonance with your heart. Your eyes are full of stars. You are mad with inspiration, but the Universe is having it that way. Your synapses fire like bullet tracers in some ancient war to establish order. Yes, you. You are custodian of your Universe, though it's not yours and you didn't hire yourself. You were appointed in an ancient and magical ceremony that has been long without reference or reverence. You're all hopped up, your eyes are clean & sharp. You can tell that something is crystallizing in the ether, like it may shatter if you breathe too hard. Like it could flex if you poked it. Like you maybe could lose a finger.

So you run a labyrinth of ideas, everything shining golden and brilliant like the sun. And in this labyrinth you are not lost, it's like you're coming home from the longest, most epic journey to a home that you've long forgotten the splendour of, running from corridor to corridor bathing in the coimfort and ease you sense in the brilliant warmth of the light and soothing cool of the air. Like you are a motherfucking fish that has been thrown back into an Ocean of brilliant and eternal depth.