Good evening. Let me share a thought today. I was just gonna give you it plain, one sentence, as it happened in my head, but I think faster than I type and, as with all things I think, it became a story. So let me set it up for you, with you as the protagonist: Imagine that, from your first day of secondary school onward, you were met by a kind young woman who gave you a journal and said, keep this with you. And you do - its a lovely book, if youre the kind to notice; soft white leather cover with your name embossed in a lovely font; a ribbon in your favourite colour to mark the soft, well-lined pages; all gentle and inviting and lovely. And when you open it, you discover that it writes for itself. Its first words: [date, time]. This book is really lovely. Then again, as you see the first: [same date, new time]. Is this book really wriTING ON ITS OWN WHAT IN SAM HILL- Every day, without you picking up an instrument, it writes, documenting clearly and briefly every thought you have, forever. The next week, to the letter, the woman comes back and says that she gave it to you so you could look back at this diary of your thoughts and see yourself as you are, and as you may grow, to constantly have a record of every good dream and bad thought you ever have. She says that she will meet you, every week at the very hairline-crack of dawn, and ask you to read only two thoughts from that week aloud to her before you go about your business - the very best, most beautiful thought; and the absolute darkest. You notice little things about it as time passes. Imagination turns its spine colourful, and hatred or envy or thoughts of ill will turn it black. When your thoughts are cloudy, your mental handwriting is messy - if you drink too much, for instance, it will scrawl across the page with no concern for lines - but it will never lie, or omit, or euphemize (although it can say it knows something when it is wrong). You think, because it is magical, that no one else can read it. You show it to a friend. They can read it all, but they can never see something written as you think it; they think its just an average diary. (You ask yourself silently if youve ever had a dark thought about them in this book.) And every week, in a corner of your room, this woman appears and asks you to read, so you can reflect on what lies on those pages, in the hopes that you will think more closely about each and every thought. All I ask of you is this: now, here, in this space and time, whats the loveliest thought you may ever have in that book? whats the worst, darkest, dirtiest thought? Would you show it to a friend? To your family? To your love? What is something you thought when you were younger that you are glad you do not think now? And... would you ever want someone accidentally coming across that diary by accident and perusing it? Dont feel guilty. This is actually not a depressing post. I mean, even *my* diary would look absolutely horrendous on some weeks. But it is a good way to think about what you make out of the ingredients that are your thoughts. For actions are made of teachings, and teachings made of thoughts, so if you have far too much dark ideas in your broth, you are brewing poison and sharing it with others; and if you put a lot of light, you will brew happiness and ask others to drink. Its Tuesday evening. Whats the best thought youve had all day? #HNSHN.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 21:42:49 +0000
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