I watched in the headlamps chrome hood the moon looking for some way to break through the evenings cloud laced veil while the motor sang through the silent night. I could see beyond sight the curve dark line that marked the hillsides horizon. A few hundred miles beyond that rim remained a destination unseen but not unkown to imagination. Would all the expectations explode in disappointment making something greater than it was or would it really be what I was looking for. Chronos was the only one that had the answer now as he twisted the stars in the heavens above and marked miles in a spoked wheels rotation. I could fill midnight had past by the deepening chill and my eyes told me they were tired of following that white beam down a seemingly limitless strip of blacktop. The mind however was far from quiet but the bodies protest could not be ignored for even the limbs were growing less responsive to the demands for control. It was time to give in and rest for the night. Soon a break in the shoulder that confided confidence in an unridden trail and three trees to find shelter behind offers an escape. Exiting the road soft dirt and grass help slow the bike as it finds its way to rest and in a quick twist all grows silent aside from creaking leather and the shuffling of unpacking. The eyes watch the turning heavens as a falling star winks good night and the eyes turn out the light with the mind still rumbling in darkness.
"Those of us who write this stuff down, have to work it through our souls like kidney stones through the urethra"
Now Zee, that is poetic...only you could make a comparison quite like that..I have seen a kidney stone - looked like a sticker, must have been painful for my daugher to try to pass, the doc had to go in and fish it out.
Deep within a dream a message comes from outside causing the presence of my body to return with eyes opening to see my cycle resting in the darkness. The sun has yet to rise and prefering to ride without a watch time is an ancient uncertainty to me. Air is crisp and dark violet blue with mystery hiding something out of place in this tranquility. What has woken me? I question myself. I lay silently listening to wind shifting silence around but I can sense nothing present. I decide to slip out stand up and unpack my water to make my presence known to the darkness. Whatever it is already knows where I am. I sip the cool water to my sleep parched mouth and look out into the early morning. The adjacent highway is silent. Is it the stillness unnatural to my civilized mind that is alarming? Trying to put a figure to it and still the uneasiness alludes an answer. Then it appears on the highway a pair of lights moving slowly down the road toward me. I watch intently a vehicles shadow moving with a different intention than jetting through space and wait.
No pain no feeling. Those of us who write this stuff down, have to work it through our souls like kidney stones through the urethra. Even those who don't write this stuff down have to go through thier own version of hell. It 's just the writes of passage. B)
Springer, sorry to hear there is some pain involved in the consideration for writing..I know if must be a love from long ago that you have buried for a reason.
But I think you have the "method" wrong for right now, particularly with the pain you speak of.
Instead of burying your writing instincts and creativity as you suggest you have done in the past, and instead of hermiting away to allow for creativity, which may block it, all I am suggesting is to live your life as you are doing, and when you have your creative words flowing, as you have clearly done on this site..put it to paper..keep putting your creative words to paper when they happen, your words are not a novel, or a short story, but more like poetry, similary to Jewel's book of poetry. From your creative thoughs you write down when you have them, like a journal, when you are in a creative mood, it will assist you, instead of forcing a creative mood, hermiting, you have put the words you feel as you feel them to paper, then can use those as reflection when the time comes. Just a suggestion, because you have wonderful thoughts and put them together very well.
Yes, I have thought of doing something with it and the compliments and suggestions are both welcomed and painful.
Creativity comes in spurts as I can relax and running a castle by ones self isn't easy.
I think the day is coming when I know my steeds are secure and I can retreat to a small cottage in the woods and tap into that spring of creativity laying below. I have always been a working man and now times are changing, adaptation not fear is the key. I am preparing for the change so in time I maybe able to concentrate on writing more. It is a frustrating bind to be in. Many feel had not Jack Kerouac's mother supported him for lengthy periods of time, we might never have read anything from him.
"our natures like fine fruits require the most delicate handling but we do not treat ourselves or one another thus tenderly." It may not be word for word but it is from Thoreau.
Thank you and I will continue later..need to unwind from work.