‘ Tis the 12th day of January…the time nearing mid-month of a new year; my tree is still up, and a few packages, sitting around the edge of the plaid, red, tree skirt, await to find their proper place in drawers, or on shelves. Candy fills some containers, and chocolate coated pretzel sticks shine from one opaque round plastic jar. The tree lights brave the whispers of ‘overly spent time’ amidst a room that has only this one show of a past holiday gear. No matter, they help to foster cheer in my brain that needs the dancing lights on the ceiling; a mound of joy that waits in the corner by the window to pop with color when I turn the switch.For the last couple of days, I am into new work, my mind like a camera as I write the scene; this time of living in my story delights me to no end. I lose hours fast…like ice cubes melting in boiling water. All thoughts fall away of self, time, and place; I’ve slipped inside my imagination’s location. Thanks to the powers that be for giving me this lovely game to play, this ability of shape-shifting that strokes my soul time, and time again
The 'walks' of my mind!
Many things walk through my mind; it changes with the choice of time. For instance, during the day, I tend to write with a conscious eye, with a temperance toward word choices, almost as if I've an invisible watcher editing my thoughts before they find print; now, night time offers a different stage for my writing, I feel the mellowing of my words, my fingers fly across the keyboard with the courage of a Delilah, and thoughts sing a purer truth as the cover of darkness cheers me on. It seems most problems find an answer with only the light of the monitor in front of me. The darkness of the room lets my imagination have a free hand, no censoring of ideas, or judgment sitting on my shoulder.
The 'Memory Chair' -
"This...sitting around the fire," Wa`si said, "reminds me of my father and his friends. They would sit around the campfire gathering up its energy and before long there would be sharing time. The one designated to talk held the 'memory chair' until his story ended." He paused, as though his story mimicked the moment as the fire's strength entered into him, giving his words newly found power. "When I reached manhood, at sixteen, I was allowed to sit with the group. It was from these stories passed around from the one in the 'memory chair' that I learned the meaning of honor, and the importance of everything relative to what's around us. Best of all, I was taught that a strong man can show meekness without being weak...and shed tears without feeling shame....