Pollution.

I used to be able to think about the intricacies of life, to really understand what I was thinking about, to see all of the interconnections, like lace. My thinking is so dull now, the sound of it is like hitting a pot with a wooden spoon, a pot with a pillow stuffed inside. Where I used to dive to the depths and see the wonder, now I barely skim the surface, oily and weedy, of a polluted pond. Mostly I just sit and stare at the pond, unable to even move, much less think. The blessing of this is that I don't spend much time wracked with grief, because grief requires too much thinking. It comes on the days when the sun is shining in my mind and everything becomes so clear.