Sorry Janis but I Love the Rain at My Window

I really like rainy days.

I love the colours and the smell of wet pavement. I love how the greens and browns glitter with droplets. Perhaps, what I love most, is riding the train to and from work or staring out a window and creating intricate photographic scenes. Contrasts with reds, yellows and purples in umbrellas, rain coats and boots.

The promise of rain is ever so romantic. I imagine King Arthur's final moments as he heads to Avalon; Jane and Mr. Rochester as they bid each other a bitter sweet adieu; Lizel as she signs her 16 going on 17 heart out. It just adds a component of magic and wonder. A foggy film and falling crystals which make everything more beautiful and beckon interpretation. The constancy of the sound, the play of light, the smells of man made structures and nature.

Next time I'll get a sturdy umbrella and put these day dreamers into play.

Cautious Expectations

There are so rare pockets in time where harmony is achieved in almost every aspect of life. Work is bearable; your friendships are strong and uncomplicated; your relationship is totally synergetic; and, creativity is pouring. Each passing hour brings a sigh of relief because that balance continues.

Now, I could focus on the things that are wrong and could be better (I have a knack for that), but at the moment I cautiously dare to hope that the line between expectation and reality continues to converge more often than not. A tinge of optimism thrown in once in a while is a welcome change.

In Sickness and In Dreams

So this past week has week has kicked me to the curve with some type of cold / flu hybrid. Unable to eat, I have little strength and so I have napped a lot. This has led to some pretty interesting dreams, which I can't fully remember, but it has led me to believe that perhaps our dreams capture the residue of our desires. A type of liminal space where you are still you but without clearly defined boundaries.

You can explore all those secret inklings that would otherwise be frowned upon in the comfort of your bed...or coach, or dinner table (wherever you happen to fall asleep). The sweetest moment, at least for me, is the awareness of being in a dream because you can then control the situation somewhat. You can push yourself to run faster, swim deeper or fly higher. It is this type of liminal space where the heart and mind can work perfectly (or imperfectly leading to somewhat nightmare-like scenarios). Dependent and independent variables are then puppets of your subconsciousness. A type of perfect delirium and a source of inspiration.

In a round about way, being sick has forced me to rest. Rest has concluded in some odd combination of desire residue which have been, somewhat feebly, transcribed into potential short stories. And that is more rewarding than the copious amounts of chicken broth I have been consuming.

Mind my words

Though I try with great care to translate the ideas, thoughts, feelings and other abstract mind and heart matters into words (in the written or spoken form), I find there is a disconnect between the the initial concept and the final product.

Often times I feel the need to have disclaimer or post script explaining what I really meant, but the more words I tag onto this the more I believe I get away with from it. This frustration leads me to such great awe for those who capture feelings and thoughts so completely and accurately. Sometimes more is more and sometimes less is more for them. Whatever it is, they strike this balance of utter perfection and I feel that whatever tongue tied mess I can't entangle is literally ironed out and beautifully weaved onto the page, in the lyrics, on the screen and any other medium of self expression.

I appreciate all of this immensely. I revere the power of language and consider myself a disciple whose journey is perhaps longer than those I hold dear to my heart. And so, to read and to write is to breath for me. It bestows hope that each waking and dreaming moment is a summation of the potential that be.