Having Thoughts vs. Thinking

Hi Reader,

Continuing to pull on this thread of “nothingness” or “no-thought” that I mentioned a couple weeks ago…

Sitting down to write occurs to me as a moment full of possibility. Yet as soon as I start typing that sense vanishes. It’s like I’m saying to myself as I sit there staring blankly out the window, “What should I write?” And it really seems like the answer comes quietly from some deeper, more-real level of reality: “You could write anything.” And it feels true. It’s an odd sensation.

But then I start writing and it all collapses into these words now appearing on my screen. They just sort of tumble out, one after another. It’s not so much that I’m writing as it is I’m just following a line of thought that’s already laid out somewhere, but it’s somewhere only I can see, and only in my mind’s eye.

I wonder if I’m even thinking, or if I’m just having thoughts. What’s the distinction? Not sure yet. I’m still chewing on that. Let’s chew together. (Haha, gross. I can see why we say “sit down for a meal” instead of “chew together.”)

Well, I guess I wrote about this a while back, when I talked about my thoughts not being my own. That’s true. A whole lot of my thinking is conditioned. I received it by being (well?) socialized. How many thoughts do I have that are just ridiculous and untrue but I don’t even notice because I am that things are that way? It seems likely it’s a long list.

But “my thoughts are not my own” isn’t the whole truth. Sometimes I realize the absurdity of my own thoughts. I’ll claim that as an example of me genuinely thinking for myself. Sometimes I write or say something that truly does seem like an authentic expression of something best called “me.”

If that’s the case (and I’m not yet 100% committed that it is; I’m like 72% tops), then it seems to me there are two questions that might be valuable to ask:

1. What are the qualities of an authentic thought?
2. How might we recognize an authentic thought?

Having written those down, at this point my inner child leaps up and shouts “BOOOOOORRRRRRRRING!” at the top of his lungs.

Which, great! I don’t always need to listen to that kid, but for now I think I’ll go play some. These are the sorts of questions that slowly unravel themselves as long as I hold them somewhere near consciousness. So I’ll keep circling this drain, and I’ll check back in with you later.