Nightfishing in the Mare Cerebrum

I wonder sometimes, what will come out of the depths of my head.  I worry, occasionally.  It's dark down there in the caves.  Not much room in some places, all those ideas crammed together, piled on the floor and dripping from the ceiling.  Assuming there is a ceiling.  It doesn't feel like it when all alone in the murk and the batteries just ran out.

I liken this exploration of my head to net fishing in a subterranean river, with only a feeble and shaky miner's lamp for illumination.  The water rushes by, mostly unseen, while I stand in it thigh-deep and shivering.  The lamp casts only a small circle of light around me.  It often feels more a nuisance than a help.  Just enough light to see by, but not enough to see really far.  It also attracts...things...from the Stygian dark surrounding my little island of light.

Big things.  Scary things.  Things with fangs and slime.

I've never been comfortable in water through which I cannot see.  I'm fearful of what it might hide, of the terrors that might sneak up on me.  Yet I have no choice but to cast my nets, over and over, to haul in whatever may fall into the strands.  I run the risks because every now and then, the net captures good things.

Shiny things.  Golden things.  Things made of love and heart.

I'm learning to whistle, down there in the dark.  When the mood strikes, I sing, and the nasty things with teeth retract their claws while retreating back into the gloom.  They may terrify me...but sometimes, I confound and trouble them.

So tell me, what's in your psyche?