Musings Regarding Clouds and the Properties of Thoughts

This is an excerpt from something I wrote a few weeks ago, 35,000 feet in the air on an airplane.   

There is a strange conundrum involved with openmindedness - if your mind is too open, every thing, every value, every philosophical concept, every image and memory, all your reasons and your emotions and your logic will simply lift up and drift away (for thoughts are light, you see - lighter than air - they're what keep you from sinking to the depths of the earth). Suddenly, with your mind open, you'll have nothing left, your head will be an empty pool, left to dry in the desert sun. You'll be a hollow, echoing shell. 

So what, you ask, is the solution? Keep some things locked away in the closet of your soul. Figure out what it is that you must believe in, what your rules are, your non-negotiables, establish yourself to yourself, and then lock them away where no one can touch them or disturb them. Take them out - it's important to not let them collect dust - use them, exercise them, walk them or drive them or throw balls to them and watch them play fetch, but always always hold on to them, and always put them back. 

And when someone challenges you, when somebody, somehow, damages or disables one of those prized possessions, or when you suddenly discover that the sky is actually green rather than blue, when you find (or when someone abruptly points it out to you) that you were wrong, that there's an error or a fallacy, exchange the thought. Take the old one out, throw it away let it float in your brain with a question mark, re-gift it to someone else, or drop it off on the street corner. But never ever let that closet find itself empty. Never put everything out with question marks all at once. For if you don't have anything locked away, if you don't have anything you don't unquestionably believe in (even if you might be wrong), you can't think. And if you can't think, you can't exist. And once you lose your existence, how do you regain it?

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Clouds are such unique and invigorating forces of nature - they appear soft, cushion-y, wispy things of fantasy, of dreams, of heaven and imagination. They appear as distant rescuers, promises of greener, more fruitful tomorrows. They appear as funny shapes, as shade on warm days, as gloom, as anger, as relief. They can be ominous, looming things, promises of danger and fear and destruction. They begin as invisible droplets, building and moving and building and moving offering everything and nothing to those below. Growing exactly where God intended into grand and enormous, marvelous beings with a depth and a width and a purpose and a personality. And then, exactly at God's design, they drop when and where and exactly how much they're supposed to. The clouds cry their lamentations to the heavens and the earth and Hades, and mourn the passing of time, the loss of a loved one, the turbulence movement brings. And then they disappear, lingering no longer than necessary, no longer than they are supposed to, and move on. The shadows linger a moment longer, and then those too, are gone. The only memory of the cloud is that the grass smiles and stands a bit straighter, dressed in it's best, most colorful outfit. 

Perhaps we should be more like clouds