The Ancient Art of Questing

Bibbulmun Track 15 September 2015 06:27 am

Unwinding from my workday , drifting into hazy moments of inventiveness. Pushing away nagging self-talk of ‘should do’ and staying in the seductive place of ‘do this, everything else can wait’. I fear if I leave now, I will, and so will you, witness the disintegration of ideas… hard to get my head around how that even looks… you can’t see them until they are formed, made concrete and visible. How would you even miss them if you were never aware of the moment I am in?

I  go to my cabinet of captured dreams. Images gathering digital dust and unseen for the longest of times. These images are solid when I coax them out into the light. Fragile images that could disappear in the fury of an electromagnetic storm… blown from their home to join their uncountable sibling photons all swimming upstream like home-going salmon.

I am compelled and propelled to find my holy grail of images, something to make you smile deeply, something to imprint itself like the electric blue afterimage of a sudden glaring flash of light. Unforgettable, my face hidden behind the idea of the image, an invisible trademark that is the image and me all at once. That makes the memory whole. I made this, I put it away and kept it for the day I would wrap it up in the finest of invisible rice paper, so I could let you see it… and with a deep hope, keep and long for more. It is a small fragment, one of the myriad ingredients of love.

All at once it is a small thing and a thing larger than the volume of the universe, a question seeking an answer, an unintended imposition in anticipation of response, where the quality of all answers is subject to their polar state. Yes and no are such tiny words that punch impossibly above their weight.

Evening has come, I am unwound, the quest is done, the image found. The words are written, and the gift, wrapped. The floor needs sweeping… it can wait…

We’ll both wait together… not for long I hope.