For this writer anyway, it was a mind like a swollen river that cascades with a ceaseless vengeance down a steep and rocky decline. It refused to settle down and behave already. And it remains ever so.
A romantic looks at this all-powerful surge, the sunlight refracted jewel-like in the spray, and his heart quickens. O the grandeur. An engineer, on the other hand, sees only lost opportunity. Just look at all that power going to waste.
How about you? What do make of this churning brain of yours? What can you do with this near limitless, untapped, and undisciplined foment?
Maybe . . . what would serve you, the writer, best is to play it both ways. Regard the majesty and beauty of it, as would the poet. And then lay a plan and harness it, as would the engineer. Create something beautiful and useful, and you’ve turned chaos into a kind of elegant order.
Do it enough, and who knows, it may just lead to peace of mind.
(Jury’s still out on that one. Any guesses? Anyone? Anyone?)
Comments welcome and edited to include first names only, and website, if provided; never your email. Photo credits: the poet Sir John Suckling by lisby 1; engineers by VaDOT.