Terrestrial Head Contortion

My hands are sutured behind my head. I lie like a fallen yield sign on the side of the road. My path is yellow and humble. My hands separate. Pull. And split open the back of my skull. Evolution takes place in the gaps of solitude being locked in a room, away from all influences. Natural and spiritual become one law. And I yield . . . Pried open with my crowbar hands, the grey matter separates -- creating an entranceway for new experiences.