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sessifetThere's something inside of me, trying to get out.
There's a sound on the edge of hearing, trying to be understood.
There's a shape in the corner of my eye, trying to be seen.
There's a thought inside my head, trying to unfurl.
I'm running down a mountain, dodging trees and rocks, leaping over streams, chasing something just out of reach. I leave sparks when I move. Shadowy afterimages follow me as I bound, leap, dodge and weave my way down the mountain, going ever faster. I chase a dream, a promise, this shape of an idea.
Can I catch up with it? Should I even be trying? Should I hunt it down and force it to reveal itself? That has not worked in the past.
Do I stop and stand still and wait for it to reveal itself? Allow me to get closer and see its shape, hear its words and thoughts? That has not worked in the past.
So I lean back and close my eyes instead. Images dance in front of my mind's eye; faces I've never seen and shapes that cannot be and places I have never been. They're insubstantial. They're not real. Not yet. I wait. And dare not to hope.
My fingers twitch. My skin tingles, feels a size too small. I open my eyes and look at my hands.
A dream. A fantasy. An idea. A promise. It settles in my hands and I can feel it. Feel what it wants and what it wants to look like. I take this, the feeling, the desire and the restless energy and I shape it. I draw the images with fire, just rough lines for now. The dream, the thought is in my head and in my hands and it whispers to me what it wants to be and where it wants to go. It urges me on, so I add sounds, smells and textures and complete the picture. The thought joins the picture, in the shape it wanted me to make for it.
All of it starts to unfold before me and as it keeps growing, I try not to worry that I don't have the skill or the words to do this justice. Because for the moment, this idea is content to soar and be admired. And for the moment, I am content to watch it.
Tomorrow I write.
There's a sound on the edge of hearing, trying to be understood.
There's a shape in the corner of my eye, trying to be seen.
There's a thought inside my head, trying to unfurl.
I'm running down a mountain, dodging trees and rocks, leaping over streams, chasing something just out of reach. I leave sparks when I move. Shadowy afterimages follow me as I bound, leap, dodge and weave my way down the mountain, going ever faster. I chase a dream, a promise, this shape of an idea.
Can I catch up with it? Should I even be trying? Should I hunt it down and force it to reveal itself? That has not worked in the past.
Do I stop and stand still and wait for it to reveal itself? Allow me to get closer and see its shape, hear its words and thoughts? That has not worked in the past.
So I lean back and close my eyes instead. Images dance in front of my mind's eye; faces I've never seen and shapes that cannot be and places I have never been. They're insubstantial. They're not real. Not yet. I wait. And dare not to hope.
My fingers twitch. My skin tingles, feels a size too small. I open my eyes and look at my hands.
A dream. A fantasy. An idea. A promise. It settles in my hands and I can feel it. Feel what it wants and what it wants to look like. I take this, the feeling, the desire and the restless energy and I shape it. I draw the images with fire, just rough lines for now. The dream, the thought is in my head and in my hands and it whispers to me what it wants to be and where it wants to go. It urges me on, so I add sounds, smells and textures and complete the picture. The thought joins the picture, in the shape it wanted me to make for it.
All of it starts to unfold before me and as it keeps growing, I try not to worry that I don't have the skill or the words to do this justice. Because for the moment, this idea is content to soar and be admired. And for the moment, I am content to watch it.
Tomorrow I write.
