Thoughts on Thoughts

To some, thought is a stream. It flows and does as it pleases, without stopping for a moment to take heed. It brushes by brush and dances with fish and it is eager to join the closest, biggest body of water. It's stubborn and foolish and full of meandering and trepidation, all the while leaving chaos in its wake.

To others, thoughts aren't unified. Thoughts are stitches. They are thick at first and fill our mind's skin with familiar soreness and good old fashioned swelling of the soul. 
They stick out and can be quite ugly at times, and sometimes they're fit to burst. They pull and stretch. They can be painful, constantly reminding us that they're there. It takes some effort to pull them out, to free them and become free. 

When the thoughts are finally removed, they must be gently tugged away, either by ourselves or another, and with each strand of thought flying away, our minds open, and we enter healing bliss.

("And then you're fine", they say. As if thoughts are the things that make one unwell.) 

But thoughts aren't stitches. Taking them out does not always make us feel any better or any worse. We don't have the capacity to accept all of them, and we certainly don't have the surface area to wear them on our sleeves all the time. That is why they seem like stitches. It takes a great deal of tugging and nudging to usher them out of us. It takes a great deal of aching effort to procure even the thinnest thoughts. And sometimes, they fall out when we least expect it. 

That's just how it is.

Thoughts are more than what they seem. They are deep. They are shallow. They are clever. They are cleansing. They have motion. They're bigger than any ocean. They divide and conquer and concave, and multiply like nothing else in this world. They are intangible, and yet brush our tongues and fingertips every day. 

They are whispers and shouts and songs. They tickle and caress and sting. They are our little voices. Our big voices. Our untold stories. Our secret hopes and dreams. Our sins. Our advice. Our prayers. Our loves. Our hates. Our sliver of divinity.

Thoughts are the blood of the soul, the connection of the soul to the body.

Every problem started out as nothing more than a thought. Every solution begins just the same.

All it takes is a droplet of thought to start a stream.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Attachment Theory | poem

Why Modern Politics is Destroying Us

World Pieces | poem