Demand

Posted: December 11, 2011 in Life
Tags:

Sometimes the privilege come your way and you don’t even realize it until the moment’s gone.

That serendipitous moment that leaves you stunned and staring in disbelief.  You don’t even want to move, because you might blink and in blinking you might miss a crucial half second of this moment.  So you just stand there, drinking it in.

In the same moment that you consider grabbing your camera you dismiss the thought, knowing that there is no capturing this moment.  This is one for the ages, a fleeting instant to be recalled only in your memory.  One day, you may sit in stupefaction, unable to express a thought, just staring blankly at the wall, and you know that even though you can’t speak, and no one can hold a conversation with you, this is one of the memories that will remain.  Along with thoughts of that first kiss, that first dance, or the time you saw the brown dust blanketing your consciousness as your car turned over and over on the hot highway on that bright sunny day.

This shining gift is yours to keep.  You can’t give it away because the nature of it won’t allow it.  It fills the landscape of your mind, an incredible vista of darkness and shining stars.  Music cascades through the leaves of your mind’s trees, disturbing the air, shaking out sweetness with the sour, inviting your taste.  Taste, tactile brightness, a mystery hidden – you’re intrigued and curious.  Is there a rabbit hole in your future?   You don’t know and you can’t ask anyone.  This is your adventure, and yours to explore.

Sometimes this memory teases you as you toss and turn, dreaming.  Morning comes, and with it, blurriness and harsh light.  The disappointment is palpable and you struggle to retain those last notes which wink out even as you reach for them.   You walk to your computer and tap tap the keys to bring it to life.  Hair on precarious end, you close your eyes and type without looking, hoping the remainder of …something…will occur.   You type, not knowing exactly what you want to say, and miraculously, a new thought shows up on the screen – not the dream, but…perhaps a child to the dream.  A new thing.  In excitement, your fingers fly faster, building, dancing, creating.  You smile in your tiredness, knowing the beauty of this moment.  This moment.  This new time, this new gift.  Music infuses your consciousness – new notes, a new tide, a new rhythm.  Instinctively, you know this gift somehow relates to last night’s slumber, though you don’t know how.  It doesn’t matter – this sentient thought has its own agenda.  You delight in the pure creativity of this thing, aware that you can’t understand whether you control it, or it controls you.   It seems to thrive on its own, driven to life.

You despair the lack of a piano with which to dress this thought.  Words alone won’t suffice – it is too demanding.  The cry of a baby demanding mother’s milk has nothing on this.   Feed it, clothe it, give it purpose and vocabulary.  Give it music, give it dance, give it…give it….give it.

No matter – this wailing needful purpose will find its way, dragging you with it.  It laughs at the notion of beauty – enticement is in its DNA.  This is a given.  To mention it is redundant and yesterday.  We’re interested in the moment and the future of the next moment only. This thought looks around, searching for scraps of experience and creativity with which to cloth itself.  Fine, there’s no piano, there’s no guitar, but that’s not the end of the story, is it?   This thing will live.  It needs to exist.   You only thought you had a choice, and maybe that was true at the beginning.   Somewhere along the way, between thought, and dreaming, it became alive in a way you never realized.   It has reason, and necessity – and strangely enough, although narcissistic at the start, it now sees a world purpose quite beyond its borders.   It is now empathic, and so very curious, almost frightening in its intensity.  It feels the pain of the void of others – and it knows it has the ability to heal and bring life.

The creation now wants to create.  It wants to bring its own life into the present.

The clock ticks and you look up, realizing so much time has walked by, ignored and forgotten.

You scratch your head, and push yourself away from the computer.

And like before, you realize, only after you get up and saunter down the hall to take your shower that once again….

You have experienced a privilege.   You didn’t know it until now.

Comments
  1. wolfshades says:

    In other news – I saw the silent movie “The Artist” tonight and felt myself in the presence of a sort of greatness. Even though it was a little predictable, there were many parts of it which were not. For one thing, the thing was loaded with irony. For another, it had a compelling story. I dislike the fact that there were parts that tried really hard to make the audience cry. I feel vindicated for having avoided that nonsense. (barely)

    P.S. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know how to respond to this particular blog. It needed to be written – we can leave it at that.

    Like

  2. Momma Fargo says:

    Your writing gets more magnificient every time. Bravo! Hope life is treating you well. Keep up the awesome posts. I have been enjoying them.

    Like

  3. MoonGoddessB says:

    Oh, how I’ve missed reading your blogs daily. I never realize how much until I stumble upon a new link in my Facebook newsfeed. One of these days I’ll have to figure out how to get more organized with all my favorite blogs. ~B.

    Like

    • wolfshades says:

      I haven’t found a blog site yet that organizes favourite blogs the way MySpace does. This one excels over most though, because they continually update their blogging tools and methodology, to make blogs easy to use, and easy to advertise. And because bloggers can be subscribed to via email. Other blog sites insist that you sign up with an account – which is about as passé as it gets on the internet.

      Like

  4. That serendipitous moment is elusive to a fault lately. Or I’ve become lazy… I understand your blog quite well. Wishing for a new serendipitous moment to break the monotony of the monotony…

    Like

    • wolfshades says:

      I think I may have stumbled on the secret (or at least this works for me). Grab a glass of wine, plunk on the earphones and listen to inspiring music. Seems to poke the muse out of her stupor and you can get writing.

      Downside: potential alcoholism. Not too steep a price though, right?

      Like

      • Some of my best writing was on anti-depressants. So, what’s the difference? Even so, early morning is my best time to write. Give me a cup of cappuccino and quiet time, then the muse shows up. But, too often I just don’t bother to write it out… I just think on it for a while, then allow some shiny thing to distract me. I need discipline… LOL

        Like

        • wolfshades says:

          I know what you mean. Discipline almost seems like a vaccination against creativity sometimes though doesn’t it?

          Often I just feel compelled to write, even I have no idea what I want to write about. That’s pretty cool and I generally just run with it when it happens. The downside is that the writing often ends up in a comment on a Facebook post, or in response to an email or something. Not so often does it show up here, in front of the world. That behaviour is certainly no way to stroke my attention-starved ego.

          Like

  5. contoveros says:

    It’s really amazing how we scriveners can create such a glimpse into the magical, mystical moments of life when we simply “let go” and allow some authentic purity inside come to the surface. We become instruments for a higher power, a wiser and more insightful entity that until that very moment we knew little or nothing of its existence.

    You nailed “demand” with this one, Wolf. I felt it playing loud and clear.

    Like

    • wolfshades says:

      Thanks for saying so Michael. I appreciate it! So hard on the ego to “let go” though isn’t it? Especially when you have no idea whether the thoughts crowding your cranium will even make sense to anyone else.

      I fully expected this blog to have no comments whatsoever, frankly. Yet, it seemed a worse offence not to write it – or least, an offence to the serendipity that brought it about.

      Thanks again for your great thoughts.

      Like

  6. Wolfie, I know that moment. I know that silence. I know that exquisite gratitude for the thing that comes from nowhere and gifts you with itself. I am so glad we can share that. I am so glad that we can feel it at all–as writers, musicians, artists. I stand up and sing. The only way to let it overflow.

    -lynn

    Like

    • wolfshades says:

      Lynn, I’m glad you stopped by. Funny isn’t it – that feeling often escapes for a while and you begin to wonder if it was ever there to begin with. Until it graces you again with its presence and you know that this thing you have – this talent, or whatever you want to call it – is not just a construct of your imagination. (Irony alert) It’s real, and it needs to live.

      I like that.

      Like

  7. Living up here on this mountain has given me two outstanding sights just like you described. I loved the way you wrote it. We are very lucky people.

    Like

    • wolfshades says:

      Ahhh. I loved reading your comment. As I wrote the blog, it seemed apparent that its application might be a little larger in scope than apparent at first glance. Your comment therefore resonates, creating echoes of serendipity. Thank you.

      What you said also intrigues me – I’d like to learn more about your mountain sights.

      Like

  8. Oopps, I’m a little late — catching up on some reading. But Wolfie, my Wolfie — you captured the moment most brilliantly! I too miss your daily wordings….but you know, now I savor them even more when I do get the chance to enjoy your words. Bravisimo!

    Y beso!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s