Thoughts are like rocks (Sunday, July 5th, 2020)

T’was an ever so slightly cloudy, hot summer day

…(though I stayed inside for most of that day, air condition at 68 degrees Fahrenheit, coffee [1]as if with all its might! boiling the engines of my desires as if they were long distance migrant birds soaring along flyways, bottlenose dolphins and whales of all sorts breaching and lobtailing)…

…and I was walking that miraculous dog of mine roughly a quarter after nine… just after dusk’s afterglow had faded from my sight, when full night, the still of the night—not yet the unearthly hour—was just underway…and I thought…

…I thought: thoughts are like rocks… some opaque in abstractness/abstraction through which light won’t pass

(no matter how much the severity of intellectual, cognitive interaction I invest in them in pursuit of some clarity and concreteness….my determination and commitment like that of Aesop’s tortoise, telling myself “I’ll get there, I’ll get there,” not in any hurry I admit, like the hare, but rather, slow and thorough…

[2]“like making love to a woman”—this is how my father attempted to coach me, winking, as he suggested how to approach “critical thinking”…“back in the day” when he was still around

…some rocks are translucent, and a few are unorthodox, transparent jewels, all in a variety of colors and shades, the faces of which are like cool sunglass lens tints seasoning and spicing unusual whirlpool mystique (no matter how well known and applied the rules of reason’s tools) as to preserve and charge up the feathery pleasures of aspects of teasing, flirtation and imagination.

My dog stops walking and sees something, despite the dark, it seems and he barks. “Come on, Osmosis,” I tell that sweet, sweet boy, petting his head, and then, we walk on and I’m processing through fractal fragments of random dreamed up scenes but not as seen through the chaos of a kaleidoscope, rather, like… distinct iotas… of spatial quota frames (the x and y dimensions on the coordinate plane; specific mathematical expressions…) … which, when synthesized… form constellations…

…(my fifth grade self, who failed math [3]and roused the wrath of his mom and dad in the I think third making period [4]? [5]just no substantive attraction to the subject matter, he feels dismayed and betrayed by this sort of strict, theoretical, logical abstraction, variables—

[6]x, y, n, (((or in more artistic ((((?)) terms, “mystical aspects,” “that which remains unknown,” “questions…”)))—

–Aristotle’s “law of identity,”—“what does it matter to me?” he wonders, interrupting—“guess” I say, “what’s the point, I won’t guess right,” he says,  sounding and looking so depressed…)–

Still walking but my flashlight is weakening; “that alright Osmosis, we are chill,” I tell my dog re: the light as it struggles like a fatigued star whose clouds of dust are just too still, radiance degraded and partly frozen by xy(n) and partly due to a lack of exposure to dancing and yoga lessons, leaving muddy puddle thought digressions but, meditating on my bed and on my couch, or walking as I was then, wherever, I note them…

…(and what a rather psychic action this seems… maybe it’s the sly tricks of so called psychics that make up part of that anxiety inducing, depressing, distressing xy[7]n as I associate the experience of the “psychic” intuitions with a woman whose kitchen table I once sat at while she asked me if I wanted a cigarette [8]yes I did smoke then which I regret and would I like, for forty something thousand dollars, for her alter my fate by praying to her god to give me everything I could ever want and beyond…how did I respond? Oh alas, I was conned…)…

–hmm… so might observing thoughts be “psychic?”…

I think so because one does not quite “perceive” thoughts until, like breaths, they enter and leave the body…or maybe though we haven’t yet learned how to discern the feeling of a thought as its reeling … maybe it comes with the slightest of feelings (or, like Percy Shelley put it in his “Hymn To Intellectual Beauty”: “some unseen Power/ Floats though unseen amongst us…./As summer winds….”)

“Time for us to walk back home Osmosis” I say as we turn around and I think the profound visionaries of human history…how they terraform and perhaps cause just a little trouble—some even within the bubbles they blew as children!!— and Bob Dylan’s “Isis” plays in my head:

“I was thinkin’ about turquoise, I was thinkin’ about gold,
I was thinkin’ about diamonds and the world’s biggest necklace

And then I thought in general about discernment of “the wise and the fools” as apparent from transparency of jewels through which one might see the campfires and firework shows of culture; the karma of people working, the concretized reveries and disturbing nightmares constructed by politicians, educators, media, “big pharma,” the auto-repair folks, the electricians, the people who grow and sell our food, et cetera….

My contemplative and illustrated theoretical hypotheticals (striving for imagination and reason) frolicking with at least the feeling of freedom, perhaps the sort I imagine a ghost could possess… not that I believe in things like ghosts and demons

…Well…how do I know whether or not ….“ghosts”… might exist…. scary prospect I admit and yet it’s also is nice to think one’s “spirit,” quite like the human imagination, can fly and roam free when one “dies” but goodness I hate all thoughts associated with mortality…and…

…And so I stop.

 I pet Osmosis to ease my moderate neurosis. What a generous personality my dog has, the way he lets me pet him so and hug him too as I then do… and I feel…a “good” and “nice” feeling… like that of a hot, healing shower before bed; like a most appealing and somewhat hypnotic, safe narcotic lullaby, like kneeling in prayer or saying a shielding mantra to a deity or the mysterious creativity of the universe.

Just about back home and I’m I thinking, how lucky I am, indulging now in this engulfing thought like a jewel… 


1 as if with all its might!
2 “like making love to a woman”—this is how my father attempted to coach me, winking, as he suggested how to approach “critical thinking”…“back in the day” when he was still around
3 and roused the wrath of his mom and dad
4 ?
5 just no substantive attraction to the subject matter
6 x, y, n, (((or in more artistic ((((?
7 n
8 yes I did smoke then which I regret

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