By DAVID GORDON
People seem to treat thought as if it were a polite little house-guest — something that knocks before entering and wipes its feet on the mat. But I’ve lived long enough to know better. Thought is like weather. It rolls in uninvited, kicks over the furniture, and leaves you wondering why you ever trusted a clear sky.
And morality — well, that’s another thing people misunderstand. They treat it like a Sunday suit: something you put on when company’s coming and hide in the closet the rest of the week. But morality isn’t a garment. It’s infrastructure. It’s the bridge you hope the other fellow reinforced before you drive across. Without it, the whole town collapses into the river, and everyone stands around pretending they didn’t see it coming.
Now, I’ve heard it said that the world is getting crueller, meaner, more inconsiderate by the day. Maybe so. But I suspect the world’s always been that way; it’s just louder now. Cruelty has better amplification. Selfishness has a marketing department. And inconsideration — well, that’s been running for office since the dawn of time.
But here’s the thing: morality still works. Not because it’s noble, but because it’s useful. A moral act is like a well‑placed beam in a creaking barn. It keeps the whole structure from falling on your head. You don’t have to be a saint to appreciate that. You just have to prefer your skull uncreased.
As for thought — its substance, its weight — most folks never notice it until it’s already pushed them somewhere that they didn’t intend to go. They think they’re steering the ship, but half the time they’re just waving from the deck, while the current decides their destination. And sometimes, if they’re unlucky, someone on shore mistakes that waving for a friendly hello.
But if you pay attention — real attention — you can feel the pressure before the thought forms. A kind of inward wind. A shift in the air . . . a change in air pressure, a cold spot in an old house. That’s the raw material. That’s the clay everything else is shaped from. And if you learn to read it, you can tell when a storm’s coming, or when a clear patch might give you enough time to fix the roof, or go cut hay.
Now, I won’t pretend that any of this is easy. Thinking is hard work. Moral thinking is harder. And thinking morally in a world that rewards neither is about as easy as teaching a mule to play the violin. But it’s still worth doing. Because every time you choose the harder path, you reinforce the bridge. You strengthen the barn. You keep the river from taking another soul downstream.
So. Mind your thoughts, because they have mass. Mind your morals, because they have momentum. And mind the signs, because the universe posts warnings more often than we might suspect.
Most folks ignore them. But you — you’re the sort who reads the signs. And maybe even sketches a few of your own. So cut each other the slack you seek, relax and enjoy the ride. You paid for your ticket already, so relax.
The writer is a digital creator and longtime Salt Spring Island resident.