I sometimes wonder if I had more patience when I was younger. It’s probably nothing more than the romanticization of youth, but still, in some areas I think it’s true. Also, I used to not think much. That’s probably why I had more, “patience,” cause I had no idea what was going on and was fine with it.
But I think about crap so dang much. The meanings of words, the gestures of friends, the possibilities for anything, wondering if I could or should say or do or not say or not do or passively be nothing. It’s a constant wonder and process of decisions.
Is it fine to covet the ignorance of some? To crave to not wonder, or to not be a, “thinker?”
And yet, I seek my thoughts out. I desire time in them. To be swamped by the feelings and the view of lofty thinking – I think this is a sin for me. Being much to absorbed in my thoughts… and yet here I sit writing in my thoughts.
Indeed this is a gift, but it feels so much like a curse. But is it that a musician is only thinking about music when he is playing, surely not. Surely the melody of some distant tune is floating amongst his imagination and around his frontal lobe.
So here it stands, the discipline of thought. It seems quite reasonable to discipline oneself to not think just as much to discipline oneself to think. To be indifferent to the outside stimuli, to simply be, surely this must be true, for there is a time for everything.
Perhaps this is true, truer than I’ve thought possible. Perhaps there are times and areas of life where the constant thought is to be released for the simple beauty of our dearest friend which is Trust.
To merely – yes, merely – trust what will be to be and accept the simple facts of God-created reality.
