“I don’t want to know what goes on between your ears,” she says.
I say, “Sometimes, neither do I, but the wind blows where it will.”
Doors open and close in the mind that creates. Some of the portals are bright and sunlit, others darker and more convoluted. Each has its place. Steeped in shadow, ejected from dark, warm places and welcomed into cold daylight, we begin a voyage of choices that pulls us back to another congenial but enigmatic time.
We can decide to accept circumstance and surf waters as they curl, wave after wave, and catch the moment, driven by relentless energies, or position ourselves in a way to take on the tools available to use and create, to tack into the swell and choose a course.
There is trial and error. We may select a boat that races and skips over the water with a keel that rides high on a fine line between excitement and chaos. Or we can choose a more sedate vessel, that drives deep and holds a straight course, but risks dragging its keel when it finds a shallow reef. Whichever craft we pick, the wind is still there.
The mind that creates, pulls from a reservoir of racial memory, experience, book knowledge and intuition, blending all these elements into something distinct that touches present consciousness or the preternatural. The author, musician or painter moves us in ways we least expect. Given time and attention, the recipient of a creative experience, whether it be in an audience, in an easy chair or at an art gallery, is touched not only by the actual creation, but the reservoir deep in themselves.