To be the creator.

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. That’s my preoccupation. I’m thinking. About something or other. Sometimes about not being able to think. Losing the ability to think. Fortunately, I refuse to stop thinking. If and when that happens, I suppose, that’s the end of conscious life. Can one still be alive? Without conscious thought? And merely go about the motions of  life. Without a thought? Can one forget to think about anything? Does one need a physical presence to be alive with thought? Can I leave my body? Perhaps in a dream.  And still exist? As a mere thought.  I crave. To be a body-less thought. A spirit. That moves about. To anywhere one desires. In the infinite cosmos. Then I would know. How it must feel. To be the creator. --Jim Broede