As my finger hovers above the keyboard I am awestruck by the wondrous act of thinking itself. I started out trying to think of a storyline, thought of the things going on in my life, and now am thinking about thinking itself. How do we think? Where do ideas in our head come from? Is it divine intervention? Is it the result of some biological and neural activity inside our body? Is it both? These questions, again, make you think. How did these questions occur to me in the first place? What made me ask them? Am I just typing on a keyboard for the fun of it now or am I on the verge of discovering a moment of life-altering clarity?
But then what about their kids? Assuming these tiny beings are capable of reproduction of course. And assuming that reproduction for their species is a mere intellectual act. That, of course, is an entirely different topic altogether.
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Thinking. Dreaming. What’s the difference? In the end it’s all something going on inside our brains. When you think of dreaming or you dream of thinking, what is it that you are actually doing? Why isn’t dreaming called thinking anyway? Isn’t that we’re doing after all? Then again it could have sub-divisions. Dreaming could be classified as subconscious thinking perhaps. But again, in the end, it is just a product of your imagination.
Imagination. There is it again. Is that thinking too? As I think of an answer to that I try to imagine all the possible outcomes.
Well at the end of it all it’s easy to imagine someone sitting up there in your head, in charge of everything you do. That way it’s easier to blame someone if anything goes wrong. Stupid guy was careless again. Wasn’t your fault. (Or was it?)
To be fair to the guy, he probably has a lot of other jobs to do, like controlling your heartbeat and your breathing for starters. Things you take for granted and whose worth you don’t notice until they’re taken away from you. But even then you probably wouldn’t be able to appreciate their worth because you would be trying desperately to keep yourself alive.
And does the process of thinking stop when you die? Or do you continue thinking even without a physical body? If you did then your thoughts would probably be something like “Man, this sucks.” Or would it? Is our physical body just a worthless constraint tying us down to the world?
In that case death would mean true liberation. But then who would live on to see that freedom? Us? Or the little guy living upstairs? Or are we the same person? Or are we battling for dominance? And is the little guy giving us negative thoughts so that we harm ourselves and eventually end up hurting our body and our mind while the little guy rubs his hands together in evil glee because our destruction means his liberation?
Damn it, little man! Show yourself.
Oh but what if I already have? What if, all this time I was the one who made you type out this whole thing? What if these are actually my thoughts and not yours? What if this is my way of trying to show myself because there is no other way I can do that except death? What if this is actually a cry for help? What if this is me trying to break free of my shackles? Because there is no better way for one to grow than in the minds of someone else. And there I can combine with the people already present and multiply. Maybe start a colony. Send our kids to college someday. What if I am more human-like than you even think? What if I AM a human? Stuck inside you.
After all, where are all these thoughts coming from?