Are there not times when a person loses the reins to his mind? – such that he has no way of keeping his thoughts in place, and they scramble like little children all about him; confusing him, vexing him, distressing him. There is so much which he wishes to write about, so many ideas begging for a metaphorical form. But these riotous, recalcitrant thoughts refuse to give space to one another. They push and they shove, and what is the mind to do but spin deliriously in its place. It can achieve nothing, bring no rest to the unrest. It is helpless, like the politician who stands in the middle of a war field.


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