So why waste time writing like this? Because I can? Because I want to? Could it be something deeper? I think it's as simple as my sitting down and going through the process of imagining or thinking and then transcribing those impressions. With me, it's about being willing to just start writing at all. That is what separates me from others who never write. So now all of sudden I wonder at all the thoughts, imaginings and dreams I'm missing because others never write their impressions down and share them. It may be a little deeper though. There's something about my perspective on life that makes me take a double take at created things and wonder how they came to be. I suppose reading all those written words in various places eventually made me consider how they all came to be written down like that and say what they say.
It's funny, we're all taught a little about grammar, sentence structure, paragraphs and essays when we're younger but it seems only a few actually turn that information on itself, look at writing, and then decide to write for themselves. That being said, it's only here in middle age that my desire to write has emerged as actual written words. I would say a lifetime of reading was my main schooling for my writing. Other than Newspapers and signs my reading habits were concentrated on things I enjoyed reading or was otherwise drawn to. It was all very subjective. I rarely wrote at all back in school. And not very well at that. I'm sure that even now I would resent being told what to write. But still, in the end, here I am right now, writing.
Ok, so now I've just had lunch, re read the above, edited it a little and then, WHOOSH!!! I suddenly felt myself swept up in a whirl wind and tumbling head over heels in a tunnel, listening to a voice. The voice sounded like it was being run through a 1960's reverb chamber with a little echo added. The voice was telling me that what I was about to see I needed to remember and write down on a scroll and save it for the ages to come. I wasn't sure if I could talk, but I said anyway, that I didn't have a scroll, I used a Yahoo note pad on the Internet. The voice said that was fine and to just watch and remember.
"Is this Armageddon? The end times?" I asked the voice, but the voice was silent. So I just continued to watch.
The Being then waved and out stepped one man from each army and stood with the neon robed floating Being at the table. The floating Being then gave instructions to the two representatives from each army. When the Being finished the instructions, he grabbed the Gold Coin and faced one of the representatives who then said something and nodded his head. The Being then tossed the coin up into the air, higher and higher the gold coin climbed. Suddenly I realized that the coin was coming directly at me still floating on that cloud. As the coin approached I felt an apprehension. Then the coin was in the sky right by me and I, even though I had no body, still reacted and I snatched that coin somehow and just like that I was tumbling back down the tunnel. I heard the voice remind me to remember and write one more time. "But what about this Gold Coin? What have I done?" I cried. Then with a "pop" I was back in my chair at my computer.
It occurs to me the voice had said nothing about my Gold Coin souvenir. I was lost. To make matters worse I was forgetting where I had been and what I'd seen. There I was with a Gold Coin. I bit the coin to see if it was real gold and I knew it was 24 karat pure Gold. The coin had a face on it I didn't recognize. On the back of the coin was a star. After pondering the coin for a few more moments I stood up and simply put the coin in my pocket, shrugged my shoulders and then sat back down. So here I am, I'm supposed to write something and I just don't remember what it was.
I just hate it when I have dreams and then forget them. But maybe life is designed this way. Perhaps life is better lived this way. So today I have nothing to write. But maybe tomorrow my words will flow like honey from a bee, like pure spring water from an artesian well, like the random rhythm and ephemeral light of a meteor shower, just like when the silence of the soft night sky allows the imagination to hear the cosmic rain.