Fine line

Sometimes I have a fertile thought, impatient to gush forth. I feel I cannot wait to give birth to it. However, sometimes I block the thought, I distract myself with trivialities and neighbors. Then I grope for the idea again. Where is it? Where is the vigor? Have I lost it? I take a break. I indulge myself with life. Then when the scales are balanced again, I approach it with sobriety. The thought appears many in number. And to my great surprise, the treasured thoughts have become richer, more powerful, more cognizant of themselves. They are no neophytes anymore! They want to come out and take form, but with poise and dignity. Their dances are more rhythmic, even though they are just as fertile as before. They work with me, they do not torture me to let them out. And when they arrive, they drop like pearls! They are the metaphors of my life!
But behold! If I hold these thoughts back, and let them pass through me untapped, they turn out to be old-naggers. They whine that the world has no place for them, and that they are too good for this world. They demand an eye at the back of their heads so that they do not have to squint too much into their past. They become nostalgic pirates!

Yes, thoughts too have their childhood, youth, and their old-age. But a thought can have only ONE of these in its lifetime, not all three of them. It's a fine line.

Moral?