Is yours under-used?

This a tapeworm. It may have meaning

When all other diversions – telly-watching, advanced cakery, tree pruning, over-the-garden-wall conversation, drinking oneself into oblivion, reading novels that are beyond us, being cruel to our nearest and dearest, pretending to understand quantum theory – have turned into dusty, dried-up riverbeds we are left with that final and most  private resource: thought.

Most times it begins accidentally. We are reminded of a single fact, although, without the faintest idea of its meaning, I am tempted to say factoid. Sounds more profound, doesn’t it? It could, if I let it, be the starting-pistol signal to a line of thought. But I won’t. I’ve half a mind to be philosophical. Or do I mean philological?

Whatever.

The fact (-oid) may take any form. It could be a person, a word that grabbed our sense of rhythm, a sensation within the gut, a foreign incomprehension, the taste of a passion fruit, an event in history (Yeah. This is a great opportunity to explore The Don Pacifico Incident. But somehow…). Rejection by a member of the opposite sex who should have been grateful for the opportunity. Dadaism. A sin committed in youth. A conviction that we are uglier we ever thought.

Anything. And the process of thought may take us in any direction. Like as not, though, the first response will probably be propelled by one of Kipling’s “six honest serving men”:

… they taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When.
And How and Where and Who.'

The cliché stepping stone would now be to provide an example but that’s the easy way out. What’s fascinating about thought is the process itself. The fact that each move along the way presents us with the same infinity of possibilities. Thus Susan Sarandon may metamorphose into the instincts of a tapeworm. In the blink of an eye.

This would be the result of uncontrolled thought, day-dreaming. The alternative would be controlled thought, whereby we try to profit from our ability to think, forcing it into useful revelations. Understand we’re talking about thought, as opposed to mere problem-solving. Being driven by the belief (hope?) that – ahead – there are flattish stones waiting to be turned over leading us to a miraculous understanding, say, of why the scale of C-major seems inevitable. Even pretty. And which could explain why our head occupies a space at the top of our spine.

There’s lots more to say but if I could be granted a wish I’m hoping you'll break off from Tone Deaf and try out this process yourself. As to some extent I did when I first arranged the words: “When all other diversions – “