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Thursday, February 2, 2017

The way we go about thought 2/2/17

The way we go about thought
is as if it features a quazi suspended lake ethics
where what is thought
has a shelf life of its own,
set adrift
on this man made lake of far-reaching memory.
New thoughts may seem like duck hunting
with decoys buoyant yet static
on the surface of recollection
with an assumed set of functional rules in place
that are both the fixed
and unwavering
in the surface tension of conversations
that we have come to so thoroughly rely on,
forgetting that immediacy
is always saturating every last thought
right everywhere
we just have pensively been!
If you get the picture then watch closely,
as you can realize that it is a comedy
in a subtle slapstick-carwash kind of way.
Thoughts come forth,
assuming a flotational ethics to stand on
and a time honored way of perpetual perusal
with other near by thoughts
of recent previous discovery
(moral suds included),
only to watch the annoying
but unavoided candor evident
by thoughts merging or just sinking away
in the midst of other next thoughts
yet all are assumed to be safe
and readily accountable.
To give it a picture,
it’s all leaves as if thoughts,
off a tree of life,
say, in the experiential fall of the moment
but in a time lapse way
speeded up so that days appear as seconds
and seasons are just, at best,
a minute of graphic dismay and then fall-away!
Maybe, for some, a bubble machine
dispensing oodles of bubbles face forward
and then pop might seem more appropriate
but not so amusing
that a mercy rule would be as evident
and operative for that graphic metaphor
to represent how thoughts come and go,
for it would appear that if bubbles might linger,
they would also emotionally waver and wander,
not so much tied to a sense
of conversant unity or share,
just vagrant thoughts said out loud
but no clear audience
as participatorily evident as with the tree
and its conversational limbs and branches
still in place
even after the thoughts themselves
have fallen away. 
But dare I fall away myself
from this description first hand
and all would be lost before I come to this,
where contemplation becomes an enduring
and enjoyable food-for-thought ,
fresh cooked metaphorical supposed duck of a meal
wandering along, musing,
on this lake of rumination . . .

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