More like a trickle – or maybe a tickle. Idea runs together with another like water drop joins another – then, Niagara Falls. From nothing, too much to capture – can only hold so much in my hands at one moment, or so much in my mind. Captured like photographs, not like prisoners – witnesses to our own inspirations, not some jailer’s voyeurism.
If I could, lock it up long enough to get a good look, it would get away – gone out that window or escaped through crack beneath that cell door. Making room of course for plenty more, but what was here is now gone, like a dream, when I wake in its middle, can’t recall exactly where I was but ache to get back there – no matter how hard I squint and squeeze there is no way to fell resolved because I cannot get back to that place I was. And after a moment I realize the story evaporated, or moved on.
Each thought, each inspiration, each dream interrupted – sets me on a new journey I don’t understand other than to marvel at how far I am going, how far I’ve come, how incredibly I can do things I only, a few moments ago, believed to be impossible.
Inspiration flows. Not really. Well, not like a faucet or river. More like a runaway downhill stagecoach in an old movie – no brakes, no flat spot, no runaway lane, inevitably crashing to canyon floor.
Wake up. Go back to sleep. Dream some more …
Lately I’ve been sleeping more, better, and dreaming more, better.