Monday, January 10, 2011

Mental Travels on a Snowy January Morning

I have entered a room with fire blazing in the fireplace and leather writing chair in the corner. Room lit with a warm glow, inviting me to sit in the chair, take up pen and paper, and begin to write. Whispering in my ear to dig deep and journey within my imagination, uncovering stories of a grand and delicious nature. I write to discover my life and to reveal my soul. I put it all down on the page, while sitting in my leather writing chair; coffee with cream and sugar by my side ready to nourish my imagination whenever it may falter. The page is a wish fulfilling tree. I sit beneath the tree and write, watching my dreams unfold. I am traveling. I fly a single motor plane over Australia, a white scarf dangles elegantly around my neck. When the plane picks up speed my scarf ripples behind me. On my travels I meet many interesting people. I lunch with Le Petit Prince under an acacia tree. He tells me of  his life and travels and about the precious rose which he loves so dearly. After lunch I meet with Jules Verne to discuss our travel plans for the coming year. Late afternoon I have coffee and conversation in a Paris cafe with Collette. This evening I will attend a costume party at the New York apartment of my dear friend Anais Nin. Anais informed me that Henry Miller and his current wife may make an appearance, as they are passing through the city on their way back to Big Sur. Life is about literature and travel. For that is why I have been set down in this glorious universe, to write, play, and have enchanting encounters with figures great and small. The ordinary and the superlative. A writer's life, a traveler's life. I will not apologize for my dreams, but I will dig my Calvin Klein heels into the inches of snow and ice outside my door and stay firmly planted in the exotic and exquisite world of my imagination. Scene upon lovely scene unfolds before my mind's eye. Bob Fosse dances in the desert. Le Petit Prince's head full of blonde curls dazzle in the sunlight. Magic resides at the core. My soul is rooted in the fantastic. Sweet images fill me to overflow. Sweet, indigo, honey flavored life.

7 comments:

  1. I love this! I was there with you, it's brilliant :)

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  2. Yes! Yes! Yes!!! I love this and I sooooooo relate to this line, " I write to discover my life and to reveal my soul." When I don't write I don't know what I think. I don't know who I am if I am not writing. I lose myself without writing. And I love finding writers whose work affirms my existence. Your piece today was such a piece. Anais and Henry do too. Paris and Big Sur are my two favorite places in the world, I wonder if that has anything to do with that.
    This was brilliant, Davida. It reads like a creed. Love it!

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  3. Your comments have completely made my day. This post started as a journal entry and then made it to a blog post. I loved writing it, and I love rereading it.
    Devorah, I am so happy that you were there with me, for that the exact experience that I want for my readers.
    La Belette, thank you! thank you! thank you! for this gorgeous response. Anais is my favorite writer. I recently reread the fourth diary and was astounded anew by the depth of her vision into the human psyche and soul.Wow! This is a magical day.

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  4. You have a fascinating imagination. Loved going along for the trip.

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  5. @La Belette Rouge, when you wrote 'When I don't write I don't know what I think. I don't know who I am if I am not writing. I lose myself without writing. And I love finding writers whose work affirms my existence.', that is exactly the same for me. I know I am not okay when I don't write...

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  6. So dreamy. Love it. Will follow. Here from BPOTW.

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  7. Kristy, welcome to the blog. I'm so glad that you appreciate the dreaminess of the post, it was a complete delight to write.

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