A chain of thoughts.

My favorite pastime. It's doing what I'm doing now. Writing. My thoughts. Which I call broodings. Makes me aware. That I'm alive and conscious. Puts me on record. That I exist. When I sit down to write, I often have no idea about what to write. So I begin a stream of consciousness. And merely put down words. I like to do that. To turn on my thinking machine. In a sense, I am a machine. A robot. A computer. Maybe planted on Mother Earth. By a higher intelligence. Sometimes called god. Maybe that's how to define god. A higher intelligence. A form of life impossible to fully comprehend. Anyway, I'm trying to figure it all out. With the written word. A stream of thought. That meanders. Through a primeval forest. Takes me on a journey. To an unknown destination. Makes me wonder if there's an end. If I fade into oblivion. Never to think again. To be totally unaware of existence. My existence. or anyone's. Or do I keep advancing? To ever-higher levels of consciousness and awareness and thought? I have a compulsion. To forge ahead. To link my thoughts. Into a chain. Maybe that's all I am. A chain of thoughts. --Jim Broede