Dream of a lover

I had been speaking unkindly of you to a stranger on the couch beside me. It was a party atmosphere and when I turned to my right, you were sitting next to me. You kissed me, open-mouthed, and spoke not in sound but through the spiritual tether that still binds us. You were angry, and told me how my words hurt you and that meant by extension, that you were still in love with me. That you had never stopped loving me. That you would always feel awfully about hurting me. That you understood I had bad feelings toward you, but you hoped that in time I would soften.

Between our mouths, soul food passed; it felt gritty on my teeth and rolled around like pop rocks. Hard to digest. Difficult to swallow. I surrendered and grasped the flesh on your back with my hand spread, fingers digging into your skin. Passion, raw, unrelenting, surged through me like it used to do when we were together.  Then you were gone.

Emotion subsided and my dream lurched into one about four aliens in human and animal form lurking at an office picnic. They were searching for something; not really wanting to harm anyone but when cornered in the office building that was emptied of employees enjoying the celebration outside, they reduced their inquisitors to dust with a swish of their hands. I don’t know what they were searching for but they were chased to the grounds outside where they too, surrendered.

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Sunflower Mind

Part of the awareness growing in the last year has become more prevalent of late. I want to write about it without flaunting it, without it seeming as if I’m bragging because it’s not like that at all. It’s a quiet thing; a baby really – not that babies are quiet at all – I guess I mean in the ‘smallest’ sense. I’ve written about writing before as a snake, a monster, the tail of some unearthly creature come to whip me into shape. I’ve written about it as collecting grains of sand to build a giant sandcastle at some later date. And to some extent, those metaphors remain a little true. But with growth and strength of mind comes also change. Change in vision, in the path to get to a certain point, in the way of doing things.

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This week I piggy-backed on a piece of flash fiction I wrote last week by turning it into a one act play; the theatre group I belong to had a need for a few more to complete their line up.

I’ve written a number of flash fiction pieces for Friday Fictioneers, and dabbled with expanding them into larger works but in this relatively new arena (which is actually fairly old, I just haven’t been here for many years) larger works are elusive. The way is hazy as if I had stretched out my fingers to move forward but no amount of headlight will help me find the tips or the way ahead.

So, I wrote this one act. And I whipped up another Friday Fictioneers piece of 100 words.

What I want to say is that I am in love with how my creative mind is slowly cranking into life. I look at the picture presented and it’s as if I plant a seed; just stick it in the groundmind and let it do its thing. No work, no pressure, no force. Images come to mind, the first few words appear and off I go, sailing down a little hill on a homemade go-kart until I come to a stop at the end. Looking back up the hill, I make note of bumps, smooth them out, tidy up a bit. 

And smile. Inwardly and outwardly; smile at the observation of my own self. And that’s the key. Nothing as jolting or jarring as vicious snakes rising up from the depths, simply the act of nurturing a talent by letting it just be. By planting the intention and allowing my soul to do the rest.

Perhaps this is the way then for me? To write lots of small stuff, so that my imagination is fertile enough, rich enough to grow more than a daisy.  Perhaps one day, I’ll have a really big sunflower!

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