I’ve experienced an interesting phenomenon as of late with certain thoughts and concepts and wonderings. I’ve become aware of a handful of relatively new, novel, sometimes scary, usually weighty, outlandish, significant facets of my existence over the past season. I’ve had to wrestle hard with them. They’ve permeated a lot of my awareness and experience.
Those thoughts have taken on an interesting nature in my psyche.
I think most of us have worn items in our worlds. Objects that we’ve owned so long, handled so often, used and refolded and packed up and traveled with and relied on so much that they have become worn and smooth and soft. Like driftwood; like antique handrails; like shiny noses of statues in ancient courtyards.
The thoughts I carry with me these days are heavy and familiar. I’ve turned them over so many times; regarded them for countless hours; become intimately familiar with their curves and fabrics and textures and weight. I’ve spent many a rainy, cold, sleepless night clutching them or trying to push them away or stuffed up against them, frustrated, trying to get comfortable. They remain. And we know each other. Their surfaces are worn and oft regarded. I don’t understand them; still don’t know what to do with them. But they’re companions for this journey and seem here to stay for a while.