THINK TANK

I've spent too much time in this finite life engaged in mundane thinking processes. I’ve spent so much time contemplating spreadsheets and the corporate hustle and grind when I'd rather be contemplating love and family, poetry and Orwell. My mind longs to craft odes, not objectives and analysis; poetry, not POAs prescribed by others until all authenticity and ingenuity are stripped away by templates and tantrums.

I want my brain to stretch toward the questions of humanity and the trembling state of our planet, not how to be better at differentiation. To imagine how joy might be made and shared, not how rubrics might be filled. Instead of training sessions and data checks, let me have conversations with poets and philosophers, let's free flow and share our experiences unchecked and learn in an organic way without grueling admin and report backs. I long to ignite thought in free thinkers and creators and dreamers, not pin young minds to the pages of standardized tests. I want to contemplate our place in the universe, as custodians of this planet and our fellow man, and strive toward taking care of the important things... not just being good little consumers on a perpetual circuit of compliant consumption.

And let every day hold the languor usually reserved for Sundays. The air heavy with the scent of coffee and toasted bread, butter melting into its crust. Fingers sticky with figs, the tang of olives briny on my tongue, the soft crumble of cheese dissolving slowly. The cawing and crooning of birds outside the open window, the occasional rustle of a breeze lifting the sheer curtain so it grazes my bare arm. Sunlight pooling golden on the tiles, warm against my skin, while cool slate presses soothingly against my feet. Eyes half-shut, the world blurs into color and silence... except for the drone of the washing machine in the distance... the faint perfume of citrus and lemongrass floating on the air, and the taste of green grapes lingering as time itself stretches long, unhurried into dusk.

Let my hands touch bark and branch, not keyboards and wires. Let me walk in the crunch and crackle of the earth, sun pouring down on my unpainted face, raw, real, and without disguise. May the only lines carved into my skin come from laughter and joy, not powders, potions, or brushes.

Bare-legged, pajamas riding up thick thighs at four in the afternoon, cool tiles a balm beneath my feet. Rising from an after-lunch nap, belly still warm with a simple feast of hummus, olives, cheeses, and crackers...

I want to make love in quiet afternoons in unmade beds and contemplate the speckles in his eyes and the freckles lining his nose and wonder at the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it settles after explosions that could rival the big bang. I want to run tender fingers over rough hands, knuckles and bone, and marvel at how softly they caress my cheeks and thighs, leaving no scars, only goose bumps...

Other times I want to sit quietly with the divine, reciting Surah Yasin and allowing melodious verses to soothe my tired soul as I grasp at depth and meaning, every time finding something new which leads to deepened contemplation. And with each step I take, I’ll fold a 1000 Astaghfirullahs into my gait, finding emotional balance and tranquility in the repetition and forgiveness.

This is how I want to think. This is where I want my mind to live.