In The Cemetery Looking Out

Am I the only one, someone please tell me no.
Tell me you too have experienced this.
You’re out and about. Doing your thing. Whatever it is you do during your day-long slumber called work or life or existence. Walking around, acting purposefully, yakking it up, bursting through crowds or traffic. A moment alone, not talking on the phone, not texting, not BSing on Facebook…a real moment alone.

When you’re alone, you think, you talk to yourself, you ruminate.
Sometimes, thinking so deeply and disconnectedly, so removed from your ego and consciousness, thoughts and images protrude unannounced right into your psyche. Shocking you with images that you never intended. Their abrupt presence jolts you. Confuses you and rocks you.

These thoughts and images, so random and unannounced, yet born of your deepest thoughts, are frightening for they seem to portend a deeper truth which perhaps you don’t understand, or worse yet, see. A reality that exists on the outskirts and which you typically ascribe to the psychic or unknown. The premonitory.

I’ve had so many instances like this.
Going about my normal routine, drowned in the inconspicuous thoughts of casual existence, when something flashes through my mind.
Dropping in like an restless intruder.

These images are brief and fleeting, but horrifying. Horrifying but not in the explicit manner of their offering. No.

Horrifying in their subtle innuendo of a future undone.
Horrifying for what they portend. Symbolic personal doomsdays.
If I was superstitious, these would have done me in by now.
These visions.
Random visions of unstated damnation which visit me during the day.

I can’t remember.
Today. This morning, I had one.
Fleeting and so brief as to be invisibly incomprehensible.
But full of intimated fates.

So I don’t remember it.
But I was doing whatever it is I do, when suddenly an image fluttered through my mind.
An image of a wrought iron fence.
Weeds, forlorn and unkempt, yellowish, grew and writhed up the solid thick bars of the fence. Wiry weeds.
And in the foreground, lush green grass.

That was it.
Three seconds of an image.

And in the moments immediately after the image retreated from my mind, I knew it was a cemetery.
I was in the cemetery viewing outwards..
I was captive within the cemetery.

My spontaneous sighting took place from within a cemetary.
What to make of this?
What to guess?

I’ve had worse.

Is this a matter of mind mimicking life, or vice versa?

Extrasensory intrigue walks the precarious line between logic and confusion.
We seek to attribute meaning to our experiences which have none.