I find that one complaint always seems to wash up to my shore, like scraps of a boat once sank and churned toward through angry storms.
“You think too much.”
The plight of the youth just looking for a conversation. For no true communication can continue once the dreaded sentence be uttered, “You think too much.”
Ultimately, what the speaker conveys with this sentiment is that they no longer wish to think.
Their piece has been said, and I’m left to continue on in conversation with something new, perhaps extolling the virtues of the great thoughts of great thinkers of old and how their hard work creates for us a stage on which to play our lives, our thoughts, and that there is no way that we can think too much for it is our god given right to ruminate.
But I mourn the poor, sad topic that goes to the grave whenever it’s met with the response of being told its thought life is not worth the expense. Whatever it was or was to be is now curbed at the onset of its emergence into reality, forever locked behind teeth and mired in a circlet of doubt with no key save permission to think some more about it.
Sometimes I identify with these thoughts too much; these poor outcast thoughts that no one wishes to play with. The broken toys of our minds, the homeless of our consciousness.
Like Lady Liberty, I call these thoughts to me so that I might restore them to their truth worth, to something good and useful again with the simple act of thoughtfulness.
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
So, with such paltry tools, how can one strive to undo what they have done? For me, the simplest answer is to spurn that which you love. Those thoughts so in need of care and gentle caress cast back into oblivion, told to leave and ne’er return, banished to a place of all loathing with no more hope. For it is in the hatred of the things we truly love that we can balance their control over us.
No, I cannot think too much. But I cannot love too much either.
Photo Credits: Statue of Liberty by Monika Simpkins
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