Mind Debris and Creativity
capturing even small bits
Hello Friends!
In my head I have two more days off from work, but the calendar tells me, no. One more day and your butt is shoved out the door once again into the flowing stream that is the work week. Sigh. Time can be a slippery, cruel thing.
It’s the end of May and the year is certainly advancing faster than I want it to. Last Friday I decided to slow it down a bit by planting flowers. When in the garden, time passes so sweetly and pleasantly, I hardly mind. The sun and fragrant breezes are enough to lull me into a fairy dream where the clock hands stand still. The spirits I encounter among the leaves and blossoms all invite me to stay as long as I like, an enchantment broken only when the late afternoon chill taps my shoulder, reminding me it’s time for dinner.
Writing can cast the same kind of spell over me, although there are times when words are blocked by mind debris. Like a stream clogged with dead leaves and branches, a tangle of worried, negative thought squats on the source of creativity, allowing very little to pass through. This happened last week. I struggled for days until words finally trickled down and I managed to piece together the prose below. I try to keep a writing schedule, but there are forces at work that yank me left and right. The best I can do is steady my will but let the forces have their way now and then, because sometimes their sole purpose is breaking up mind debris and helping creativity flow again.
Paying attention helps pry away the clutter, too. If snippets of ideas float by on the current and beg me to jot them down before they disappear, I obey without knowing why or what they mean. I just know they want to be written. Sometimes they end up in my journal for my eyes only. Sometimes they ask to be set free. As I said before, it’s a spell, some kind of magic I don’t quite understand, experienced between the hours of awareness and ecstasy. When I wake up, time has moved forward and I’m ink-stained and drunk with accomplishment. And the world always looks different. I feel a sense of belonging.
I hope you enjoy the small bit of creativity I was able to capture even through the debris. This one wanted to be shared!
Darkling
I’d like to use the word darkling in a sentence one day,
but I don’t know how. Words confuse me sometimes.
When I was small, my teacher told my parents I couldn’t comprehend them,
and it was like a sin.
I never knew what went on in the bedroom behind mine,
but it happened after the sun sank so far down
an imp grew in the corner of my room.
I named him Darkling because it sounded like darling,
and I liked saying it over and over. I cherished him.
On him I hung all my fear, my desire,
my shame, my curiosity. He gobbled them up,
patted his belly and grew strong.
One day he moved so swiftly, I couldn’t catch him,
and when he opened the door and saw what was hidden from the dawn,
I was struck. I said it was Darkling’s fault, but they didn’t believe me
and sent me to my room.
Darkling cried under the blankets, but I told him, Don’t,
and swore I’d never let him hurt again. But he was safer to ignore.
So he went away.
Years passed and I’d forgotten about the imp.
Then one evening ripples on the water under a darkling sky
made me think of him and I knew, although mute,
he lurked in the shadows, still
but nearer the light.
Enjoy your free time and experience your own magic hours!
~Jan
© May 2024 by Jan M. Alexander. *All rights reserved.