A thought as a cow

A cloudy day greets us on the mountain today, with much gray, wind, and the promise of rain later. The distant hills have a blueish hue to their features, uniformly smudged like a pencil sketch meeting a sweaty thumb. At least it is warm.

Looking out from the top floor of the library often reminds me of a chapter I once read about thoughts, and how is that they can disturb or not disturb you. Actually, the chapter wasn't about that particularly, but that was the conclusion I drew from it, given the needs of the time. In short, the chapter suggested that one should give one's thoughts a big range in which to exist; thoughts are most calm when they are free to roam and expand in space. The usual tendency with difficult thoughts is to limit their scope, and pen them in, like stuffing a cow into a sardine can. But that is brutally uncomfortable for the cow, and can lead to much trouble I should think. What is the cow to do if it should have a scratch? Or if it should wish to take a walk to stretch the legs, or go to the bathroom, or do whatever else cows most naturally do? So it seems with a thought, be it pleasant or disturbing,  that to give it peace--any by extension pacify the mind generally--that a wide space in which to wander is most conducive for transforming difficult thoughts into less difficult thoughts, and perhaps eventually a thought which once disturbed you greatly may become a thougth that disturbs you no more. Is it enough to hope that perhaps difficult thoughts may ultimately enrich your daily life, given the proper attitude and practice regarding them?

These things I do not know, and the understanding continues to wrestle with the issue. But if a thought is anything like a cow, a wide range over which to roam, poop, eat, and rest would seem most conducive for making a thought happy while simultaneously keeping one sane.

Strange post, but so it is. Cheers!