thought as play

walking the brick road of what other's thought

is a sense of self-levitation unnoticed.

meaning is like the rope used in jumping rope.

each time it hits the ground understanding happens.

but while in free flight, round and round,

there is wear-age, twists and turns.

and meaning, derived by the next ground in contact,

is now something both newer and older from the past.

understanding was during that jump.

the airborne insight meaningfully intended,

by the timing of the jump,

and the execution needed in the context provided.

who made the rope and how it is used,

reflects the sense of how understanding works.

yes. we all have skills,

jumping skills, visual timing skills,

even wherewithal skills for jumping rope,

either alone or with a stated group present.

and so, mindfully, meaning is passed along.

every jump provides for a new thought to come.

it's a process that we all do. 

what we think they meant it to be understood,

is now what we think it to mean

as thoughtfully exposed to us.

but we only get the words presented,

as in rope touching ground.

we have no access to the process it originated in.

we hardly have access to our own.

thoughts just roll down the conveyor belt of recognition

and we then lip-sink into cognitive existence.

yes, the touch-stones of topic all can seem similar.

yes,  the incantation can sound almost the same.

but wild is the patterning unrealized 

before the present occurs.

everyone has a mind-living room

and it is ruminated quite uniquely ongoing.

even if you are the next renter, 

in that same room,

occupancy has its own unique flavor,

as meaning is then that occupant.

and there then becomes the limit to understanding.

as for understanding,

sure, we can make brooms out of it.

we can publish volumes about the work of it.

we can walk a lifetime of it.

but meaning is really like a form of interior design,

a way to stylize, a means of bedeck and adorn,

a passage of impressions made homey. 

but meaning, as thought, 

eventually become but stale air.

sure others will breath it in,

take value from what was, that now is.

and we all attempt mindful stature by doing so.

but meaning's uniqueness runs back to its origin,

beyond what meaning implies,

back to its self-origin.

the tapestry that arose as thought,

that became the weave 

of the intentional towards pronouncement.

and of course, the statable results,

as if a collection of thought-birds released

out into the say of what others hear as said.

each to his or her own,

as new-bees readied for another batch of comprehend.

bless us all.

jumping rope is next thoughts coming.

for we are all children of the mind

and we play for as long as we possibly can . . .