Back wards.
Feb. 2nd, 2002 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janestarzHave you ever written something? Have you ever drawn something? Have you ever been in trance?
I recognize a poem I have written, as if I was under trance. The poem comes from a world behind the clouds of trance. I can remember writing it, but I cant remember where I found the words or the thoughts behind it.
After youve finished the poem, you wake up. You break free from the trance. The gaze you had on that blank piece of paper is gone. You blink, and the page is full.
Ive had this trance numerous times. In the dutch elfwood meeting, for once. Everyone there was in some sort of trance I believe, because you are surrounded by 28 other people fixed on the world behind the curtain of clouds. Fixed on getting there and drawing. At that point, you think it matters, but in truth it doesnt matter what you draw. Because you are behind that curtain of clouds where the inspiration lies.
I am in a trance right now. I am amazed I can recognize it without breaking free, but I know the clarity in words I have right now can not be from your side of the curtain. Whenever I do break free and read this back, tomorrow or Monday, when I will post this on the internet, I will recognize that I was under trance. I see now. I see that how I feel right now does not matter at all. I have found the crack in the clouds and slipped through. Im swimming in a sea of words and all I have to do is reach out my hand to pull the words to my mind.
Im certain that when I start writing about how I feel right now, I will write a poem that will make my paper weep when I read it back, because I have crossed the line and can write down exactly how I feel. No need to think of the right word, because it is here, and all I have to do is reach out my arm to create the state of mind on paper.
It doesnt matter if I use pen or pencil. It really doesnt matter if I type it on the computer or use a real notepad. Because I feel I am beyond the clouds. Nothing like that matters here. Typos are there, but when I correct them I dont lose time or the trance. Because the words are here and it is my hand that makes the error, not the mind.
It has become easier to cross beyond the clouds lately. I have no idea what caused this. I might have opened up a crack, and I can end alone and submerged in a sea of words, where I could drown if someone doesnt pull me back in time. But I feel more sure of myself.
I have never used any drugs except alcohol, and I can assure you that this must be the ultimate state of mind. No drugs can compare to this, because drugs destroy. This state I am in right this very moment is one of creation. And I know that if I lay myself down to sleep in a few minutes, or an hour, that I can wake up in the middle of the night, in need to write down what my head feels, from beyond there. I have had it before, and I know that until I wake up tomorrow, I shall remain this groggy because my head is swimming in a sea of words. Far away, my mind reads what I can summon to be on the paper.
And with this, the candle dies. It has been burning for too long now, and theres no more wax to be consumed by the licks of fire. My mind shall rest now. I shall write more, tomorrow.
I recognize a poem I have written, as if I was under trance. The poem comes from a world behind the clouds of trance. I can remember writing it, but I cant remember where I found the words or the thoughts behind it.
After youve finished the poem, you wake up. You break free from the trance. The gaze you had on that blank piece of paper is gone. You blink, and the page is full.
Ive had this trance numerous times. In the dutch elfwood meeting, for once. Everyone there was in some sort of trance I believe, because you are surrounded by 28 other people fixed on the world behind the curtain of clouds. Fixed on getting there and drawing. At that point, you think it matters, but in truth it doesnt matter what you draw. Because you are behind that curtain of clouds where the inspiration lies.
I am in a trance right now. I am amazed I can recognize it without breaking free, but I know the clarity in words I have right now can not be from your side of the curtain. Whenever I do break free and read this back, tomorrow or Monday, when I will post this on the internet, I will recognize that I was under trance. I see now. I see that how I feel right now does not matter at all. I have found the crack in the clouds and slipped through. Im swimming in a sea of words and all I have to do is reach out my hand to pull the words to my mind.
Im certain that when I start writing about how I feel right now, I will write a poem that will make my paper weep when I read it back, because I have crossed the line and can write down exactly how I feel. No need to think of the right word, because it is here, and all I have to do is reach out my arm to create the state of mind on paper.
It doesnt matter if I use pen or pencil. It really doesnt matter if I type it on the computer or use a real notepad. Because I feel I am beyond the clouds. Nothing like that matters here. Typos are there, but when I correct them I dont lose time or the trance. Because the words are here and it is my hand that makes the error, not the mind.
It has become easier to cross beyond the clouds lately. I have no idea what caused this. I might have opened up a crack, and I can end alone and submerged in a sea of words, where I could drown if someone doesnt pull me back in time. But I feel more sure of myself.
I have never used any drugs except alcohol, and I can assure you that this must be the ultimate state of mind. No drugs can compare to this, because drugs destroy. This state I am in right this very moment is one of creation. And I know that if I lay myself down to sleep in a few minutes, or an hour, that I can wake up in the middle of the night, in need to write down what my head feels, from beyond there. I have had it before, and I know that until I wake up tomorrow, I shall remain this groggy because my head is swimming in a sea of words. Far away, my mind reads what I can summon to be on the paper.
And with this, the candle dies. It has been burning for too long now, and theres no more wax to be consumed by the licks of fire. My mind shall rest now. I shall write more, tomorrow.
