Means to an End

Why am I so scared of this brain I have?

It is me, but it isn’t, and that’s the reason.

Yeah, I know all of it: the neurons and sulci,

the thalamus and the amygdala.

And I’m so scared of it all

because it’s me, but it isn’t.

Yeah, I want to be more than my neurotransmitters.

I want to be the soul I believe I am.

I want to be the visceral extrapolation that is infinite.

Yeah, I don’t want to just be the brain I am.

I want to be the spirit that I know I am.

And that existential proliferation of thoughts

that are contained in my brain, but drown me in

depersonalization;

I want those to be the least of me.

Yeah, I want to be more than my neurotransmitters.

I want the emotions I strive to feel be more than

those little synapses.

Yeah, they fire.

But I want them to be the least of me.

Yeah, that biology, that chemistry.

Yeah, that Platonic reflection of true reality.

Yeah, that Gnostic ensnarement of spirit in body.

A little body, a little spirit.

Yeah that body does its thing;

the brain does its thing.

It is me, but it isn’t.

Spirit in the brain. Did it make it up?

Maybe so.

And then, maybe not.

Yeah, maybe it’s a means to an end.

God in the brain. Did it make it up?

Maybe so.

And then, maybe not.

Yeah, maybe a means to an end.

I want to be more than my neurotransmitters.

But maybe they’re a means to an end.

Yeah, maybe a means to an end.

Yeah, maybe a way to God.