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I wonder—how is
a thought created?
Could it be that it begins as a smear,
created by a mental paintbrush,
pulled from a community
of paints and pallets, widening
and broadening and expanding until
it becomes an entire painting,
beautiful to see?
Yet not always so beautiful.
Could it
be that it
is a small
blob,
ever expanding until
it becomes a mass of brilliance,
a complete idea, ready to grow and change
and help the world?
Yet not always so helpful.
Could it be that it flows out from a door in a mental closet,
where it was sleeping, dormant, and now
meandering
side like a long, golden snake?
from
to
side
Yet not always so golden.
Could it be that an idea’s shining radiance,
filling and freeing the mind,
allowing the mind to generate
new ideas, thoughts, resolutions,
is the basic center of benevolence?
Yet not always so benevolent.
Not always.
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