|Bus Stop in Montreal|
The other day a friend's Face Book status said that they saw a yellow balloon go flying by. I told him it was a sign and when he asked "of what?" I said, "A yellow balloon escape, silly." We joked back and forth a little further and then moved on.
Sounds like a pretty frivolous conversation but my mind doesn't let go of things like that. I wondered where had the balloon come from? Where would it end up? Was there some sad little girl crying over its loss. Had it just floated away from a wedding. And from there I reached further, imagining myself as that yellow balloon, escaping from something that held me down or perhaps just choosing to float freely, flying way off into the atmosphere. The creative mind expands a thought and moves it to a whole other level. From that simple image came the following poem that I've posted previously on this blog.
Freedom came on a winter breeze
in a voice that whispered now you go
and blew me past the evergreen trees
and over bluffs of sparkling snow
Liberty then touched my hand
and guided me through unmarked trails
and past the glistening fields of sand
and over nature's dunes and hills
Unrestrained I escaped unblemished
a yellow balloon in a topaz sky
a worn out trinket no longer cherished?
No, a lucky break and a chance to fly!
It matters not how my spirit lifts
and finds a way to reach the heaven
as long as freedom is the gift
and I accept the prize I'm given
Immediately after I wrote it had a sense of utter joy and satisfaction. A moment or two before this little poem did not exist. Suddenly, I had created something that had never been here before. All of the words had existed independently and I had rearranged them into such away as to create something new. An idea, a rhythm and a rhyme. All from within my imagination. To do this, to create, gives an unparalleled feeling of bliss to me. I am, when I write, completely on purpose.
The photograph above is of a bus stop sign in Montreal. I think that to most people that is all it is. I looked at it and went. "WOW." and immediately knew this would show up somewhere in my writing.
Can you see what excites me so? Do you just see a bus stop? I see so much more!
It has choices, direction, numbers and fresh sparkly snow on a red railing. I picture a woman alone, in a strange city, unable to speak French. I'm not sure how she got there. She wears a red hat and she is cold, shivering, confused as she looks at the sign. The 747 express goes to the airport, perhaps she'll go there. Yes, she's running from something. A broken heart perhaps.
Also interesting that the Boeing 747 aircraft is so well known and the bus to the airport is #747. What a cool coincidence. Or is it?
Oh, the places I can go with that little bit of numerology.
I picture my character running a finger through the sparkling snow, her red knitted glove disturbing nature's perfection as humans generally do. I see her perhaps hesitating and then writing her name there and I see her as an individual as different from the rest of humanity as each of those crystalline snowflakes is from the other. She is as real to me as the street sign is. Where she didn't exist before, she suddenly does now, in my imagination.
And with the few words spoken above, she is suddenly real to you. Tangible. You may want to know what she decided to do, where she goes, why she is running away. And someday, when you read a story of mine, you will find out. You'll recognise her by her long dark hair and deep blue eyes, those eyes that searched that sign for direction, as we all in our lives search for direction at one time or another.
There is no such thing as just a yellow balloon. A sign is not just a sign. Everything has the potential to expand into something that did not exist before. Such is the magic of inspiration, the potential of creativity and the power of the expanded mind.
This is a glimpse into how I create, how I open my eyes to possibility in the simplest of things and how the mundane is spectacular and why there are really no boring moments in my life. My goal is to transport you. To take you to that bus stop, to stand you next to that girl and pique your curiosity. And to do so, I first must pique mine. Now I want to get to know her, follow her, chat with her on the bus, fly with her on that plane. And I want to take you with me.
The Secrets of Rare Moon Tickle; That Heart is now in process. Perhaps she's going there. Perhaps she's going home. I'm off to find out.