I am a thinker, a premeditator, a ponderer. That is not to say that any great and wondrous thoughts are produced in this fertile mind, but there are many things growing and thriving here. Some are beautiful, many are wild. I don't really know if this kind of prolific mind is desirable. All of this thinking can be very distracting and exhausting, especially when there are more fruitful endeavors in want of more attention. When I'm reading a book, my mind is so busy crafting analogies and reading between the lines that it's as if I'm reading two books at once; and if I'm not reading a book, it's as if I am, and it's always the same book of poetic philosophy. Anyway, there's nothing to be done about it. I've always been this way. In truth, I'm happy to be the ground where wildflowers grow. My wanderings are like dear little friends and I'd be loth to part with them. Is it safe to trust these little suckers, cute as they are? They've taken over a good portion of my brain already. Am I too much in my own head; and if this is the way that it's to be, then what good can come of it? What is my purpose as an affectionate weed farmer?
I love the way you are! I am the same way. Deep
ReplyDeletethinkers all who have layers upon layers of thought
always swirling around. The only fear is of getting
lost in them and losing touch with reality and others
who can't keep up.