Thinking — the talking of the soul with itself. (Plato)
It is the job of thinking people not to be on the side of the executioners. (Unknown)
As I sit here this morning in the semi-darkened house with the glow of the Christmas tree lights reflected in my computer screen, I marvel at the kaleidoscope of thoughts that ramble through my mind . . . memories , reflections, gots-to-do’s . . . some of the thoughts have tiny emotions attached to them, dragging the feelings along behind like a child pulling a little sister or brother on a sled. Those thoughts are heavier, and take longer to make it across the surface of my mind. Sometimes they get stuck, too, heavy-going. Some are so trivial that they are drivel; some of course are profound 😌; others are surprising. Some are eye-widening, even to me, and I think of the old saying that if even one woman told the truth about her life, it would rock the foundations of the world — and I don’t mean the “truths” scattered across cyberspace everyday, but the Truth buried under mountains of debris.
It’s “always wondered me” how and why people think, which is probably why I became a shrink. Even as a child, I would think to myself, how can they act that way? What are they thinking? And in my self-righteous (or maybe brilliant??) child-mind, I would say to myself, that can’t be right. Way back then is when all that emotional baggage got attached to thoughts, I reckon.
By now my intrepid reader(s) (if I have any) is probably thinking “ this woman thinks entirely too much” — news to my spouse, who expresses the opinion frequently that I only “feel.” Ah, well, some of our thoughts can get us in trouble with our dearest and nearest, and we learn to keep ‘em in a vault. How valued those people are in our lives around whom we feel safe enough to say most anything, and have it gently or humorously accepted . . .
As we get older, there are SO many thoughts that no wonder we forget a lot of them, hopefully not the original, world-changing ones. Those, the brilliant ones, we share with each other on park benches, and quilting circles, and over coffee at the corner cafe, sometimes just drivin’ along a country road.
So when someone trusts you enough to share some of those free-floating thoughts, dear reader, treat them as gently and with as much awe as you would precious crystal or a new-born baby. They are amongst the most valuable things that Other has to give you.
