Loaf X Loaf #6
As I write from our cabin in the mountains, dough is rising in the oven. Microwaving water for my favorite instant coffee. Beep. Done. Sip, "Ahh!" Deep breath in. Hand-made blanket over the knees. Wireless headphones lilt a tune. Remote controlled candles clicked on flickering a warm, safe glow adding a bit of ambiance. All winter long, I can be found here. But, from this cozy safe haven, I allow my mind to wander. . .
This is exactly how I write in my journal and a lot of entries begin this way. I do not care if verb tenses clash. Or of incomplete or run-on sentences. Least of all, if any of it makes a bit of sense. It is just my way of encapsulating an exact moment. To put a rose colored tint on it periodically. To suspend time.
Days, weeks, months, or even years from now, I will re-read my chicken scratch. I will recall the scent of fresh bread, the flavor of French Vanilla, and those battery hungry candles. I smile at the thought of looking back and rediscovering details that would have otherwise slipped my mind. All because, in the here & now, I choose to sit with pen or paintbrush and totally loose track of time.
This is exactly how I write in my journal and a lot of entries begin this way. I do not care if verb tenses clash. Or of incomplete or run-on sentences. Least of all, if any of it makes a bit of sense. It is just my way of encapsulating an exact moment. To put a rose colored tint on it periodically. To suspend time.
Days, weeks, months, or even years from now, I will re-read my chicken scratch. I will recall the scent of fresh bread, the flavor of French Vanilla, and those battery hungry candles. I smile at the thought of looking back and rediscovering details that would have otherwise slipped my mind. All because, in the here & now, I choose to sit with pen or paintbrush and totally loose track of time.
Within these pauses I squirrel myself away to shift from the mundane to the mystical. What began as an abstract sketch of a third eye has now become the portal to my own mind. The doorway to my creativity.
I pause to document the smallest of details to anchor me to the here and now physical moment. This third eye doorway creaks open. Teasing before it snaps shut. I vacuum the floor or clean the bathroom. I write out future to-dos, checklists and anything else my absent mind will forget. Leftovers for dinner will give me a bit more time. I see the doorway fluttering awake. Beckoning. From my cocoon I feel a tug in the direction I should go. I follow, trusting. Enveloped in esoteric inspiration, I shut out the entire world and finally paint. | "Entrance Into Inner Worlds" |