Rastrophiliopustrocity; a spontaneous combustion of creative spark that is followed by action in order to manifest and bring into existence.
I took the drug again, I just had to! Within minutes the creativity was upon me and I was scrambling for canvas, paints and brushes.
It was like someone else had taken over my head and hands, I didn’t know what I was doing, wasn’t aware of what I was creating, which meant have been because the drug partly caused temporary blindness.
Paint splashed all round, two, three brushes in my hands at once as the need grew, I had to get everything out of me and put it onto the canvas as fast as lightening.
The drug lasted only a short time so I could only do one painting. I had in the past tried for two or three canvas, that I had set up ready but the paintings hadn’t turned out as good, they had been blurry and frantic. Not my normal artist flare, so I hadn’t sold them.
The minutes seemed to race by as I worked, still unaware of what was being brought to life before me. My body started to trier, my hands aching and a headache building. The drug was wearing off.
Exhausted, I stepped back and looked at the painting, it was one of my finest yet.
Komorebi; sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees.
Six months trapped in hospital with a brain tumour and I didn’t want to spend another moment in doors. But my wife and nurse insisted on a few days resting and strength rebuilding at home before I went back to my hobby of hiking.
‘Take it easy,’ my wife said as we arrived at the forest trail.
‘I shall do,’ I replied and we set off.
Spring was high in the air. The flowers and leaves on the trees out in full and the gentle breeze carried their scent to me. Birds were singing loudly, making the perfect music to our walk. Sunlight was coming down through the trees, creating dancing patches of light on the ground.
The air was so clean and fresh, a shock after the disinfected air of the hospital. There was colour everywhere, so different from the blandness I’d been in. Warmth kissed my skin and I looked up at the sun through the trees’ leaves. I took deep breaths, eyes shut, let the light play across me and relaxed fully for the first time in almost year.
‘Are you okay?’ my wife asked.
‘I’ve missed this,’ I said quietly, ‘nature is the best healer.’
Dustsceawung; contemplation of the dust. Reflection on former civilizations and peoples on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust.
I dreamed again last night. Everything was gone. Dust storms blew through empty buildings and burnt out cars. The wind howling like a dying animal, the sound amplified.
I walked, face wrapped in a scarf. There was a children’s playground. A skeleton against the wire fence. Didn’t like real. Reminded me of models in classrooms. The skeleton had yellowed bones. Fingers curled around holes in the wire fence. Empty eye sockets staring. Mouth open in scream.
Instantly, the skeleton crumpled. Dust at my feet which the wind blew away from me. Crying out, I ran away. Tripped and fell. Dust in my eyes, nose and mouth. Dust suffocating me! Wind deafening me. Gone. Gone. Gone.
We are all dust. We come from dust and we return to dust.
Ceraunophilia; loving thunder and lightning, finding them intensely beautiful.
I’m attracted to lightning. There’s just something about the raw power of a storm that draws me and fascinates me. I’m not sure how or why my love came about but it might have to do with the first storm I saw.
It was a family holiday, I was five and we were at a zoo. We heard the rumble of thunder and I remember asking what that sound was and then what the flashing lights in the sky were. We ran for the shelter of a cafe as the rain hammered down and the storm raged right over head. My baby sister cried, like a lot of the children round us but I pressed my face to the window and watched the pretty lights in awe.
After that, any thunder and lightning storm interested me and I would check the weather forecast to see when one was due. Sometimes, I’ll travel to a location to capture a storm and I watch lots of recordings online.
People might call me a storm chaser, but that’s not really what I do. I just enjoy watching lightning and listening to thunder.
I like being alone. There are no distractions or interruptions, just the time to read novels. I love entering into times long gone, worlds unknown and times still to come, with different people but their problems; money, love, family and hardships, can still be experienced now. I draw comfort from those stories and characters, makes me appreciate more being alive today.
When the weather is nice, I’ll sit outside with a picnic and loss myself in the words until time has no meaning. On rough days, I sit in the conservatory, letting rain and wind be the background to the darker parts of the novels. During winter, I’m by the fire with hot chocolate and Christmas cake, living in all those historical winters’ pasts.
My favourite place to be alone with my books is in bed. There I spend hours and some sleepless nights, turning pages eager to know what happens, seeking answers till everything is solved.
Some might say, I’m not living my life, I’m repeatedly living the lives of fictional people, who have never been and never will. But people can say whatever they want. If I’m happy alone with my books, that’s all that matters to me.
The full moon hung in a strange dark blue, smoke cloudy sky. The silvery light fell on a metal sign in the shape of a large grey, wizard hat, which rose high above a huge hotel.
The sign shimmered letting out a pulse of magical energy which rippled through the air. Everyone who knew even a bit of magic, felt the pulse no matter where they were and they all took off towards the hotel.
Soon, witches on broomsticks with their animal familiars landed in the car park. Wizards arrived in clouds of sparkling dust. Mages, sorcerer/ess, warlocks, enchanters, alchemists, seers, druids and loads of other magical sensing people arrived across the hours in all kinds of ways including; magic carpets, red flames, blue flames, snowstorms and miniature hurricanes.
Everyone gathered in the gigantic underground hall, lit be flickering candles and awaited for the Magic Council to assemble and announce why they had all been summoned.
Finally, one of the High Wizards rose and addressed the gathered, ‘there is a crises,’ he croaked, ‘magic is dying and we must do everything we can to save it.’
A murmur went around the room then a young witch’s voice rose, ‘then let us all work together to fix it.’
Lily sat down on the grass next to the river bank and began mediating. She was new to to the activity but had so far found it useful for calming down everything. Normally, Lily would sit on her bedroom floor in the morning and the evening, shut her eyes and try not to think about anything other then her breathing in and out.
Today though, with the weather being so nice and herself feeling restless and depressed, Lily had decided to walk around her local park just for something to do and to get away from the house.
With no real direction, Lily had let herself drift, avoiding the busy playground areas, football field and popular dog exercise spots. That’s how she had ended up in this quiet, hidden area close to the river. It seemed like a good place to take a break.
Lily breathed, trying not to think of anything. All around, nature was singing her song this afternoon for anybody who cared to listen. Lily want with it, letting the sound of the river and birds carry her away.
I sat on the sofa with my dog and flicked through the TV, there wan’t much on and I wasn’t in the mood for anything. I found some re-runs of a murder mystery series and with that in the background, I picked up my knitting project which was a toy teddy bear.
Weeks of being on and off ill had meant I hadn’t got around to finishing it but today could be the day. Settling down, I started knitting, my dog sleeping behind me as she often did on these kind of days.
After a few rows, I pulled more of the wool and noticed it was stuck on something. Turning, I saw that unable to snuggle against me my dog had placed her head on the wool ball as if it was a little cushion.
Feeling mean for waking her up, I slipped the wool ball away from her. She raised her head, seeming confused at being awake.
‘It’s okay, old girl. Come lay on my lap,’ I told her whilst rubbing her head.
She yawned and re-curled against me, going back to sleep once again. I carried on knitting, thinking there was no better therapy then this.
(Photo my own. Please don’t use it without permission.)
The teenage girl walked into the studio set, the blue and white chequered dress swishing around her. She was nervous, this was an important scene in the movie but she followed all the directions and got everything right.
During the lunchtime break, the director and wardrobe designer came to her.
‘You did just fine,’ the director said, ‘but I’m having a problem with the shoes.’
The girl looked down at the sliver slippers on her feet, puzzlement on her face.
‘They are not coming up well on the film,’ the director continued, ‘so, I decided to change them to these ones….’
The wardrobe designer came forward and showed the teenage girl a pair of bright ruby red, shinny shoes that seemed to sparkle with magic.
‘Oh!’ the girl cried, taking the shoes, ‘they are…just….I love them!’
The girl slipped the shoes on, they fitted perfectly. She smiled up at the director and designer.
‘Great!’ the director said, with a clap of his hands, ‘let’s get back to it then! We’ll need to re-shoot this morning’s scenes.’
The abandoned sliver slippers were dumped back in the wardrobe department, totally forgotten forever.
Sunlight started to undarkened the sky as Teagan and Mason stood on the hill side. It was a strange moment to be caught in both natural dark and light watching the sunrise. A quietness, which felt like held breathe, created a paused between the changing times.
Teagan wanted to say something about how it felt like they were waiting for a great mystery to be reveled to them but she couldn’t frame the words right. Instead, she held Mason’s hand tighter and watched the melted yellow sun breaking through the clouds.
They had come up here from their hotel room, driving first then walking the hill, to celebrate their first day of marriage life. It seemed fitting to watch the sunrise, even though the celebrations were still ringing in their ears.
A bird choir broke the silence with their welcome day song as the sky turned a wash of colours and night officially slipped away.
Teagan lent into Mason and put her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. Nothing needed to be said, no words could describe the experience, it was all about feelings.