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The man of limited thought was a contented person.
He knew he had a simply view of the world
He knew he harboured no expectation of anything other than a series of basic and limited thoughts on most topics.
When he looked around he saw what was there, it was a concrete view of things, the plants, the flowers, the sun, the stars.
He didn’t look to complicate things, what he saw was all there was.
When he looked at flowers and picked one, he marvelled at its colour, its shape, its texture and scent. He never gave a thought to how it got there or why it was.
Being a man of limited thought had so many advantages.
He was never asked to be on the panel of anything important. In fact, he was never asked to be on anything. As a child, he discovered it was a useful attribute to be useless at most things as then you’d not be disappointed when you were last picked for any team, as it was obvious you were selected to make up the final numbers, not for any skill you possessed.
In high school, he found an attraction to girls. He didn’t know what to do with it, but it gave him a good feeling when he thought about how pretty Brenda Rutherford was. His body took over his thought processes and behaved in ways he didn’t understand which was okay because he didn’t want to think too much about it when satisfaction was all he sought and that he found came readily at any hour of the day.
He found he was not a physical person, his co-ordination left a lot to be desired, but that was never an issue as he was happy going through life taking everything in his stride and not asking anything more than what was in front of him.
He was invited to a conference once and attended out of a sense of obligation, not need.
He sat through a series of talks on topics he vaguely connected with, he listened to people around him discuss the inner meaning, the metaphorical implications and found so much of what they said floated high above his head, and he realised he didn’t really care.
He went home from that experience aware that what mattered to many mattered little to him. He couldn’t grasp the importance of literary forms; he didn’t see any merit in turning yourself inside out trying to understand the meaning of some author whose words were essentially bitter and twisted.
Five decades on he came to the conclusion that he could spend time trying to come to grips with the universe and to a lesser extent his own world but to do so would mean he stopped living and he didn’t see any merit in that.
Each morning he took a walk, he watched the world go by, he didn’t engage with anyone because to do so would mean exposing himself to ridicule because he would appear a simpleton. He was well aware of that aspect of himself, but he figured that was who he was and at least he knew who he was unlike so many wannabes around him.
At social events, like family celebrations, he tended to sit by himself. If someone approached him, he would gladly engage them in conversation only to find they bored of him so quickly they found ready excuse to move away or engage with someone passing by.
Even though a man of limited thought he still found it hurt to be thought of as unworthy of social engagement. It was as if he had a sign over his head: A Man of Limited Thought – BEWARE!!
Afterwards, he was happy to return home where he could be who he was. At home surrounded by what he thought important to him, he was comfortable, content and able to spend his hours worrying about the next social even and how he might be able to get out of it.
A man of limited thought, his brain was never taxed, it didn’t ache or give him pain but in actual fact sang simple melodies to him of the physical pleasures he happily entertained.