Imagination of the Thinker

She sits outside alone, in her backyard on an old, cracked cement patio; gazing out at the cornfields that seemed to go on for miles. The sun’s going down on her right side, while the moon is becoming more defined on her left. It was as if she was in the middle of night and day.

How can two things so opposite be so alike? They both complete each other; as one ends the other begins. Now here they are together in the same sky, perfectly aligned but on opposite sides and always moving opposite ways. The earth is moving ever so slowly, giving them both the right amount of time to be shown.

Thinking of this makes her feel so small: we are only one tiny morsel in a universe of things much larger. From here they seem like the miniature ones and us the almighty. How untrue that is. Even the tiniest stars, no bigger than an ant, are actually bigger than our heads.

Pondering these thoughts back and forth through her head; coming up with answers on our own is too hard. Who comes up with all of them? Who knows for a fact what is true and what’s just a tale? How do we know that they’re not telling a tale and saying it’s fact? They want us to believe in things they may not be clear to all. They want everyone’s minds to think just alike. What happens to the ones that refuse in these fables? They’re thrown to the side and labeled as outcasts of society.

In her mind she’d rather be an outcast than a follower. She’d rather go with the logic imprinted into her soul than go with the rest. Everyone should be their own person. Everyone should stand outside at midafternoon and see what she sees. Feel the warmth on one side and the cool, darkness on the other. Let your mind soar; let questions be asked.

She knows deep down that her questions may never be answered. She knows that these fables might be real. She also knows that two plus two equals four. Stating the obvious to an obvious question may bring out the truths in your own life. State obvious facts of the day and know who you are inside and out. Others may judge, but let them. Who cares about what ignorant minds think when you know in your heart that you are you.

The sun is nearly gone now, forcing shadows among the trees and the cornfields are growing fainter. Her silhouette seems as if it could blow away in the evening breeze. Tomorrow she may appear at the same time again with more unanswerable questions. Now the moon is up higher casting only a faded glow; in twelve hours the sun will own that space, and the cycle of night and day will never come to a complete end. Or will it?





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback