Spirits

fleeting Realness

    There exists in the mind a place for our ideas about the whole world. Most of these thoughts are usually at rest. But then, we see a person we'd nearly forgotten, and a surge of associated emotions is evoked. And it makes one think,
    "Oh! I remember feeling this way".

clarifying

   What should we do with soulful inspiration that comes and goes so quickly? We can bind it into a poem or drawing, but what if we write it down the wrong way? Each craft has its limits of expression. How can we express emotion that, for a moment, encompasses our whole mind?
    I bottled it up and put it away, back to sleep. That small (though vivacious) spirit that is a part of me was too precious to risk through art. I'll let it rack in the depths of my mind, so that it can be more potent next time it comes to the surface. It will be clearer, more lucid.

un-containable

    As I was working, months later, I remembered this thing in the back of my mind that I had bottled up to preserve. I couldn't bring it back out yet, the conditions were not right. But I still could think about it.
    I wondered what to call it, was it really a bottle? That implied encapsulation, and although the thing is certainly stagnant, it is hardly confined. A prisoner, for instance, may be lively with madness while imprisoned. The thing in me is not like that at all. It has the prisoner's electricity, for sure, but it is not being withheld. It is free, but it is passive.

admiring Spirit

   I gave to my un-namable thing the name of spirit. That word has many connotations. The spirit I have felt is unlike a ghost or soul, it is a presence but not an entire being. It is more like the spirit of a county, an excitement, zeitgeist, or genius loci.

imperfect Guidance

    The spirits could be manipulated, channelled into my action and work. They could be guided into a song, and what I created through the work of these spirits seemed wholly unlike anything I could produce without them.
    When I read what I had written under the influence of the spirits in my mind, it conjured up the nature that had created it. But it could never be perfect, the love I felt from within could only be simulated by words an a page. And so, the spirits were to find another outlet by which to operate, one that was not as constrained by the languages of arts and science.