The Murals In My Mind

Sometimes in the stillness, when I can’t imagine doing anything but sitting, I close my eyes. And inside my mind, or maybe on the inside of my eyelids, I begin to paint a mural. At first I see my internal masterpiece as a sort of mixed media conglomeration, where each successive layer covers those which came before. But quickly I become aware of my mind as a three-dimensional space. Even where my eyes violate the fourth wall, I silently re-erect it. I close myself in. I begin decorating my private mental space. I prime the walls. They are soon made white. A very thick, warm white. On top of that I swipe three diagonal paint strokes that are so large they take up nearly all the wall. Then I can’t decide the color of the couch that I will put against that wall. The strokes are brown on top, the next is orange, and the bottom one is black. The couch I realize is teal.  Just like the color of the dress I wore to junior prom. At this point, I can only leave the rest of the room white and empty. It is difficult to see the back of one’s mind, but I imagine that I am sitting on the teal couch watching the whims of my subconscious, though I haven’t they faintest idea what they might be.

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About Jacquelyn Barnes

Former English Literature and Writing major at Whitworth University. Spanish Language minor. Browne's Addition Resident. Editorial Assistant at Gray Dog Press. Interested in postcolonial, multicultural, and feminist theories. Former ski racer. Longboarder. Runner. Member of Vintage Faith Community Church (we have no building). Painter. Morning person. View all posts by Jacquelyn Barnes

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