Over the years, my Thought Circus has mellowed out in a way that it is no longer a ravenous baboon intent on tearing me from limb to limb but it has become something more powerful and stunning to look at. This is a change from that feeling like you’ve stuck your head in a garbage disposal for the better part of the afternoon and the only feeling or, um, course you can chart for yourself has nothing whatsoever to do with your wisdom.
Wis-don’t—that’s more like it when I’m trapezing and taming my ridiculous and sparkly Thought Circus.
What has happened,though, is that my one remaining LOUDEST thought has become I AM NOT MY THOUGHTS. I AM NOT MY WEASEL STORYLINES based on moldy old far off beliefs that should have been recycled years ago.
I’m a lion tamer and a ticket taker and a ballerina and a juggler and an observer and a bright orange sky that repeats, shouts, hollers out over the ocean that everything that happens in the learning is that which is good enough, it’s that which is the goal and as more time passes my thoughts will throw themselves around me like an evening sky that appears to astound everyone in order to remind everyone that only the going through what is directly in front of you is the thing that is most wonderful enough.
Who the Hell Knows,
Me and My Book Of How To Live a Non-Nimrod Life