deep thoughts

The red cushions held him, coffee in hand, staring out the window.

My sister asked, with an equal part touch of curiousity and concern, “Dad, does your mind ever stop thinking?”

His eyes moved to meet her.  He looked surprised. And pleased.  And tired. And scared at the inevitable answer.

Dad shook his head.


He said it’s almost like a curse.

I listened with great interest, like my brainwaves had finally found somewhere to crash, like my own restless soul had found a distant shore to land.

This is the land of the living inside your head, the mental state I can’t escape.   I’m here, but I’m not here.  I’m lost in the maze of my own mind.

“Mom, are you daydreaming again?”

My daughter’s giggles shake me back to the present moment, and I return to the room, not even knowing where it was I went.  I’m glad she can laugh about it.

It’s impossible to hide from those who know me most.  The absent mind, the loss of presence, the forgotten keys, the strong dislike of anything too practical.

My son is staring out his bedroom window.  It’s late.  It’s dark.  I’m tucking in the little boy, when following a kiss and a moment of silence, he asks,

“Mom? What’s more important?  Your heart?  Or other people?”


I’m still thinking about it.

But it did occur to me today that sometimes I need to come out of the water for a while. Sometimes I need to take a break from All. The. Thoughts.

It doesn’t have to be a deep thought all the time.  Enjoy the shallow splashing.

(I’m talking to myself again)

Staring out the window some more, standing near the shore, I look around and around and around.  I like it here too.

I love the dry ground of deep thanks.

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