This mind

What is this human mind, capable of torturous pain and elevated feelings of ecstasy. What is this skull, what mysteries does it protect? What secret words need to be whispered, what piece of fire needs to be set on the tongue to dissolve, for the secrets to be known, for the mind to sing its true colours? Have mercy on this vulnerable pice of equipment used for detailed analysis, for both large and small godly thoughts, for planning, feeling affection, everything stems from this one organ, the control centre of our bodies and our lives. What is this human mind? Of intolerable anxiety and spiralling thoughts. To what do we owe the pleasure of these highest feelings? Whom do we blame for these inexplainable catastrophic dips, like a plunge in the cold water, from which some never resurface.