Inspired- Fragment

Here’s a strange choice, deciding to share a short chapter of a book I’ve been putting aside and not writing for far too long. My hope, perhaps that it will encourage me to get back to writing, or at the very least that now it will be doing more then collecting metaphorical dust.

Good thing there’s no requirement to read it, but now it’s here if you ever wish to. Probably in need of much editing, but sharing isn’t worth much if it is not exposing and potentially mortifying right? And right now I am sitting in a state of eye-rolling, self-judgment, so seems like the moment to expose myself right?

It’s a story called Inspired about a muse and her “dyadum” (made up word from the Greek dyad-a group of two; couple; pair). There’s a lot of detail I’ve written about this particular muse universe, but nothing you really need to know for this chapter. Might be helpful to know that the meeting takes place when they are both very young. Also I use “her” & “she” but in truth muses have no specific gender beyond the one they adopt for their inspired.

Chapter –

From that first moment she saw him she knew he was the one she had been waiting for, her dyadum, her inspired.

It was as though every bit, every tiny fragment of her being, anything which could be considered her had been awakened all at once. As though life itself, whatever force that is, was her and she was it.

In that instant everything in this world, this universe and beyond had transformed, transmuted from a state of solid heavy stagnation into an almost translucent, flimsy, malleable, state of infinite possibility. As though she could lightly reach her hand out and the world around her would ripple, as would a reflection in a pool of water.

There was no permanence, no adherence to the tyrannical authority of time, here it had lost its hold, its ability to dam in potential. Neither did there exist any fixed boundaries as they all began to give way under the velocity of her rapidly expanding view. Future and past became simultaneously accessible to her and she was unable to take it all in, images—full and vibrant, a mingling of overwhelming quantities of feelings, sensations, sights, sounds. This brief instant all consuming flashes, filled her, took her over, carried her away, coming at such speed it was as if they sparked and popped as they entered and exited. The speed with which these images moved in, out and onward was faster then anything she had ever known. She thought she might burst open in an explosion of light which would cover and swallow the whole of everything known, as if she were the big bang itself.

In contrast to this tumultuous reaction he had triggered in her, he sat there very still, in quiet contemplation, completely unaware even of her existence. At that moment he was in the process of studying the newly fallen leaves which he had been collecting from the trees in his park. While his mother, older sisters, and brother kept busy— two sisters playing a makeshift game of soccer. Mother and baby brother were feeding a family of pigeons. —While they were all immersed in their activities he had slipped away, his mind fixed on accomplishing the goal he had set for himself- recording all the various types of trees there were in the park. He had been collecting as many different types of leaves as he could find and now it was time to copy them into his favorite notebook. Using a new set of crayons he applied a technique he had learned from his teacher at school last week. He placed the leaf under a fresh piece of paper, just so, and ran a crayon over it, and now he took it one step farther and tried to find just the exact color which best expressed the patterning of each leaf. It was all a very precise process, he had to place just enough pressure that all the veins and lines which made the leaf unique would be visible, but not so much that the leaf would be crushed or the crayon broken. He had watched as many children in his class fell prey to one of these two extremes and his teacher had praised him for his ability to find this perfect balance. It was not her praise though which had pleased him so, it was this joy he discovered in being able to experience the beauty in each leaf, not simply copy or approximate this beauty, but read the hidden messages in the unique lines, structures, and patterns. It seemed like a kind of magic to him that he was able to make the unseen visible with his own hands. He could shine a light on this beauty that had been hidden in the shadows. Now he looked up in awe at the thousands of leaves all around, on the trees on the ground, in the air just now floating down. It overwhelmed him knowing how many there were, how many patterns, colors, unique displays of beauty and how temporary they were, in this moment they existed, but one day soon they would all disintegrate, fall away, be broken, stepped on or mashed until they were simply part of the very ground on which he now stood. He did not yet know the words with which to label these thoughts, to contemplate them in any solid form, all he knew was that when he looked up and around at the leaves in this park of his, he felt this overwhelming sense of joy and excitement mingled with a sense of sadness and loss.

It was these thoughts of his that had called her to him, this element, this essence that drew her near. It was the intensity of his concentration, the scope of his vision, his desire, not to own beauty, not to hoard it, but to share this beauty with all those he could. It was his heart. And it felt as though his heart beat inside her now, a part of her, always to be protected.

Maybe this was all in her memory, maybe it was happening right now or was this his memory? There no longer seemed to be separation between any of these. Perhaps she had, in fact, been with him always from the first moment he existed.


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