Yesterday I lost thought. It was a brilliant thought…pithy and poignant…a philosophy of life squeezed into a single statement. I mourn it. Who knows at what juncture of the nexus of life itself this thought was located? Next to the beating heart of reality itself? Sustaining itself on the very nectar of existence? It might have changed my life and now it is gone. What happens to a lost thought? Does it simply disappear? Or does it die as though it were a human soul, leaving only a marker? Does it go to live with all the other lost thoughts, thoughts that have escaped being preyed on by the dull human brain? Perhaps thoughts are teasing creatures with lives of their own, and they put on a slightly different disguise each time they venture out to haunt someone, hoping to avoid capture, living to make a mockery out of poets and artists, philosophers and comedians. Perhaps capturing a thought is the same as killing it. Squashing it flat on the paper or the canvas like a butterfly pinned to a card. Every idea I have loses dimension and edges as I pour it onto paper…becoming thin and fragile at risk of cross examination or even extermination. A thought pinned down, and flattened out is imprisoned and exposed to attack or worse yet apathy. Though I am sad, perhaps my lost thought is better off flitting back to whatever world it came from, springing lightly from cloud to cloud with it’s wings intact, still filling out all three dimensions or maybe a million dimensions that would never fit in my head. I wish it well.