The Merry-Go-Round Inside

I hand you an apple, and you are off on a delightful spin of possibilities. The first thought is identification, the next, perhaps, one of degree. Do you wish to eat it now , or might it better adorn the fruit bowl on your table --but those are only two. My generosity is processed, the nature of that, and then the apple's history, it's shape, our relationship, your gratitude, indeed, the sound of your reply! Suddenly the sleepy head of consciousness awakes and if we think of that the carousels within our heads begin to speed, and we have only just begun. Hey, it was just an apple, but it takes us prisoner, for now it is the catalyst of endless searching. We may be here all night and emerge, sleepyheads ourselves, no wiser. This cursed carousel races stubbornly, our horses stolid, indefatigable. To exit is surrender. Our villain--and our dearest friend is consciousness-- self, and soul and psyche dueling it out on other little wooden horses next to us yet really just another can of worms to place in line of thought... or did they wriggle from that apple? My apologies. I guess all this points up the dual possibilities of choice endangering the speculative flights a universalist like me will take. Aristotelians decry us; Platanists, more forgiving, learn to hop both on and off the merry-go-round and disregard its pace. ~