Oh the thinks you can think
Think and wonder and dream
Far and wide as you dare
When your thinks have run dry
In the blink of an eye
There’s another think there.

If for no other reason, writing is a way of fighting the atrophy I can feel attacking my brain. I used to think… really think. I used to fight for what I thought, and defend my whims. I was unafraid to contradict myself and bold in my annex of new and strange ideas.

Somehow I have lost that. I have become Germany in 1946. I shy from all real fights and only half-heartedly wave a blunt sword at the deterioration of my wonderful Thinks. I bury my whims, my contradictions and my pride in the sovereign name of Practicality.

There is little more evil in this world than this: that free thought, discussion and debate should fall victim to fear.

Here is my real loathing. That I am a prisoner in the position where I used to be a leader. I have become complacent and the archetype for the “yes-man”. “And where,” the unspoken question deafens, “is this sacrilege happening?” Why in the most sacrilegious of places… the church. Why is it that the people who, of all of us, have the greatest and strongest call to love, peace, understanding, and generosity have turned into such a Gestapo over ideas. What terrifies the Christians so about free thought and pointed questions?

But I digress. I should not put the blame on the institution when I am the guilty party. I am compromised. I have put a steady (if meager) check as a priority over a voice of dissention. I can be bought. And where does my price end, I wonder? At what point to I stop whoring out my silence?

Can I make it until the end of the year….

Dear God please