a blurry mosaic of a faceJosias



A thought appears, then another. They float about like feathers in the wind. One here, one there, weightless in the air. They have no goal or direction, they simply swirl without end or aim. I reach for them: a task as vain as grasping for the wind itself.

I cannot understand my thoughts, for they are not solid. I cannot explain my thoughts. They are not concrete. I can merely consider one for a moment, and ponder another the next.

But when I take a pen to paper, or a keyboard to computer, and begin to write, the thoughts begin to settle. One by one they come together, compiling into a beautiful tapestry of philosophy. They become solid, understandable, and somewhat more concrete.

Readers contemplate my thoughts. Maybe they can make sense of them, apply them, be changed by them. Maybe the ideas will enjoy buoyancy in another's mind, just as they did in mine, waiting to be written once again.

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