Think of it, turn it in your mind as you would a stone in your hand, inspect the surface, the structure, the weight. Look at the color and shape, the size of the matter, and identify all edges. Is it smooth or rough? Has it been touched before? Is it a new thought or a well-worn favorite?
Jade and quartz are hard and beautiful; obsidian sometimes shatters. Clay crumbles and granite does not polish. And what hides inside? Some thoughts seem solid and enclosed, like some stones, but when you find a tool to slice them open you find pockets, hollow places, sometimes water, sometimes a quartz crystalline structure called drusy.
I have had thoughts I've skipped like a stone on a smooth river, tossed them away, where they sink, lost in the depths or rolling on the bottom; maybe I'll find them again, pick them off a gravel bar, but they'll be changed by time and friction. Some thoughts are half-buried in deep dark mud, and only one side can be examined, the danger of a neurotic fixation around which there is no resolve. The tools do not always present themselves, the hand for skipping, the shovel for digging.
I've learned the hard way to beware trying to guess the thoughts of others. Sometimes their thoughts are big and blatant but with hidden edges and a secret deep within. Others are lovely and transparent, they catch the light and freely show my reflection, but they are still not mine to keep. And I am curious but careful about the thoughts that are too large to hold, or those that are too big to imagine-- it is fine to look, and touch, but I don't want to knock it over and get pinned beneath it.
I appreciate the new thoughts, sometimes ones I've stepped over numerous times and never noticed, or sometimes they get my attention by making me stumble. It's not always easy to think of some things, but often necessary. Some things will not be ignored.
Favorites have been lovingly polished, like jade pebbles washed to the shore, turned and touched, moments of memory I trace mentally. The hardness of a thought changes the ease of polishing, but also makes the end result that much more satisfying.
Jade and quartz are hard and beautiful; obsidian sometimes shatters. Clay crumbles and granite does not polish. And what hides inside? Some thoughts seem solid and enclosed, like some stones, but when you find a tool to slice them open you find pockets, hollow places, sometimes water, sometimes a quartz crystalline structure called drusy.
I have had thoughts I've skipped like a stone on a smooth river, tossed them away, where they sink, lost in the depths or rolling on the bottom; maybe I'll find them again, pick them off a gravel bar, but they'll be changed by time and friction. Some thoughts are half-buried in deep dark mud, and only one side can be examined, the danger of a neurotic fixation around which there is no resolve. The tools do not always present themselves, the hand for skipping, the shovel for digging.
I've learned the hard way to beware trying to guess the thoughts of others. Sometimes their thoughts are big and blatant but with hidden edges and a secret deep within. Others are lovely and transparent, they catch the light and freely show my reflection, but they are still not mine to keep. And I am curious but careful about the thoughts that are too large to hold, or those that are too big to imagine-- it is fine to look, and touch, but I don't want to knock it over and get pinned beneath it.
I appreciate the new thoughts, sometimes ones I've stepped over numerous times and never noticed, or sometimes they get my attention by making me stumble. It's not always easy to think of some things, but often necessary. Some things will not be ignored.
Favorites have been lovingly polished, like jade pebbles washed to the shore, turned and touched, moments of memory I trace mentally. The hardness of a thought changes the ease of polishing, but also makes the end result that much more satisfying.
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