The Anchor of Reason

Inside the phantasmagoria of a churning imagination. the foibles of ego transform into something larger. It is this factory of transformation which takes subjective musings & re-works random, incomplete sentiments into language & image.

Where do all of the forgotten instances go? When an image dissolves before being worked through the loom of imagination, does it drop somewhere into the pit of an Unconscious mind, never to be revisited? Or does it simply lurk just out of conscious awareness, waiting for it's moment to return? Occasionally, I try to summon those lost scenes but having no recollection of what was inside the original instance, I anticipate the general. It is like losing the family pet & standing on the front porch calling for just any dog to return.

When we swim, letting regular thought frolic inside an ocean of possibility; this world which exists only in all that can be imagined, it is a sense of reason which anchors this process of play & discovery.

Does knowing a thing by reason limit the possibility for transformation in the world of imagination?

{Artwork by Mimmo Paladino}

The Mystery of Creation

What makes writing work? What is that essential quality which defines an effective storyteller?

When I read from an engaged place, my thinking has been caught by some detail of description which rings familiar to what sensibility understands as truth. When I happen upon some phrase which connects in this deeper manner, I'm hooked—drawn-in closer to the author's viewpoint, hoping this connection takes my understanding in a new direction. Committed, I need for this writer to affirm what I already believe yet I will loose interest if my own understanding is not validated.

Pace is important. When a writer has snared my attention, I happily join them in the journey through their words, my activated imagination whirling in creation of the subjective landscape which unites us. Curiosity propels through their artful lines; I stay with them to expand. When I lag behind, I might pull-back trust; a twinge of disappointment surfaces. I hope we will meet again. this author & I because if we have been earlier engaged, the faith in their ability to again take me to that new place sustains.

Sometimes, the writer will lose me & that earlier point of fusion, where our imaginations converged will be lost altogether, not to happen again in their story. Still, I will read on because they have awakened my mind & for this I am grateful. Like a loyal ally, I feel I still owe my trust so I read what no longer interests.

Now it is my turn. A block of time is established; I write down a date. It is from here the story will begin. Past the date, we begin to establish place, the reader & I. I want them to join me in this parcel of captured time; I want them to see what I do, to remember the details I dredge from memory.

Deeper into the interior life of a busy imagination, I lose the presence of an audience. There is a flow of image & sense memories parade in full regalia. All I can do is keep up to this energizing stream. I cannot possibly record everything shown in this place of the mind but this limitation turns out to be an advantage. Occasionally, I resonate  for I have been successful in creating a multi-dimensional landscape.

What I leave off the page sometimes vanishes immediately; other times it re-emerges & I recognize a space for its inclusion. It makes me think of perfect timing; of a lyrical spirit in Universal sequence.

{Artwork by Joan Miro}