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Amnesia “Ecstasy”

 

Life waits for no man. I’ve noticed that over the past eighteen months. No matter how fragmented things may have seemed at various junctures during that time; one thing remained constant and that is that every dawn brings a new day. There have been times when I simply wished this not to be the case and, if I’m brutally honest with myself, there still are. Only recently I have engaged in battle with my demons and they are well versed to my weaknesses so put up one hell of a fight. My faith was severely tested and I began to ask myself all manner of questions of which precious few answers were available. Yet, for all my turmoil, I remained defiant as I knew that the perspective of a fresh day was likely to cast an entirely different light on my circumstances.

Barely a week ago I was prepared to throw in the towel; not on my life as a scribe but on my existence… period! There were no cries for help as attention was not what I craved most. I had no intention on stopping the clock before my time and don’t possess the gene which would make the easy way out possible. But I do know my body like nobody else and am fully aware of how to speed up my own process. Without formulating some kind of battle plan, the black clouds come rolling in during these moments and threaten to whisk us away. Thankfully, I know now how to identify the signs and my umbrella was already hoisted high defiantly by the time they manifested. I write; that’s my thing. What exactly I scribe is irrelevant in the larger scheme of things; just as long as I’m still finding a way to utilize my voice.

Conflict has never been my thing and dramatics make my dick and balls itch as you’ll be more than aware of by this point. However, when you stare at that blank canvas each morning and nothing whatsoever stares back at you, it affords you the chance to speak uninterrupted. Nobody is likely to inform you that you’re wrong in your estimations and, instead, you are granted the freedom to operate in whichever manner you see fit. For me, being innovative through prose offered remedy to my plight at first and, to this day, still informs my state of mind. It’s no longer therapy, or at least, not under the constraints it once was. It just frees my mind from any self-enforced shackles and enables me to roam free in the diverse possibility of my own imagination. I like it there; me and I get along rather well and never a crossed word is spoken. I’ve always been self-sufficient to an extent but now I have learned to love myself and don’t find myself in contempt every step of the way.

Any obstacles placed in my way have invariably been placed there myself so at least I am aware of where these bumps in the road might be. Other than that it is plain sailing all the way once my quill touches parchment each day. On page anything is possible you see; there are not budgetary constraints or contract disputes to deal with, merely encouragement to let your creative juices flow freely. Should you write fiction then one of the vital first steps towards finding yourself is the one where you discern exactly how to scribe unapologetically. We hold ourselves back because we tend to feel that we owe the world a debt of gratitude when, in truth, it’s the exact opposite. We started with dreams and aspirations; commenced our pilgrimage with eyes wide. But then something happened to challenge our clear-cut perception and we were left feeling far from unique.

Creative souls are destined to be misunderstood. I agree with this to a point as, for some, our minds function in an altogether different manner to others around us. This can make us frustrating individuals to deal with and it works both ways believe me. Where my opinion differs is that I believe we possess all the tools required to dig ourselves out of the mire. Gaining recognition for being one such individual allows us to find acceptance and then the faucet opens. I fast found my target audience and it is because of you marvelous people that I now write every solitary word without fear of chastisement. My mind has been freed, muzzle removed, mask no longer necessitated. Thus the canvas before me is devoid of lines to trace. I simply make my own of free will.

Suddenly opportunity comes a knocking. I have a lifetime of experience to draw from and sufficient pain also. If a character in one of my parables is suffering then invariably so am I. The kicker is that, once their torment comes to an end, I return to my existence bearing no ill-effects. I bottled that shit for many years and being forced to re-evaluate from such a lowly position helped shake the soda some. Now I can release those bubbles and streamline them onto my chosen canvas accordingly. It’s my outlet; some visit the gymnasium bi-daily and channel their frustrations there and that’s fine. Whatever works right? However, it is my mental metabolism which best represents my skill set. I’ve always been a reflector but was regarded to think pragmatically in order to learn the true gift of said reflection. I discerned each stepping stone and traversed willingly; now the passageway before me is open to explore at will. You see, to reflect is to put back out there.

What one chooses to reflect depends largely on the individual. I believe without reservation in positive energy and now know the importance of paying that forward. Hold it in and it can get lost in the hubbub; learn to release a little and it will find its way back. It’s far better in life to be offered something than to grab it for yourself while backs are turned. Should one person consider another before themselves and act unselfishly, then in turn, the recipient’s own black clouds can begin to dissipate and, should they be in possession of their own canvas to decorate, then their shade may well have been lifted by a single act of goodwill. We thrive together, it is customary for creative souls to spark in unison as we feed from one another to inform our own art. Should we return the favor then everybody becomes beneficiary. Going it alone may suit some but I prefer my travels not to be solo. Keeping this network accessible at all times is tantamount to my daily growth as I have so many fonts to draw from should I need that little extra encouragement or others require the same.

If I withdraw, and I have identified this trend, then rest assured I do so only through self-preservation. It may be that I need to process and find inspiration to paint my canvas. Some days I may not appear on social networks and fall from the loop momentarily. But barely a dawn passes when I don’t have something to say, albeit through means of one-way communication. That is why audio and visual stimulation play such a critical part of the Keeper experience. I want you close; inside my head while I step into yours. I wish to project myself from the canvas, stimulate as many senses as is feasible at any given moment. This is my gift to my devoted readership and I thank every last one of you for empowering this action. I have been beneficiary many times and the least I can do is to remunerate you on your kindness. I do such through prose; that’s my thing. I’m comfortable with that now.

My canvas was blank when Sunday 5th April 2015 first made itself known to my weary eyes. Now, little under 1500 words later, I have filled it in my own exclusive manner. It matters not whether you possess natural writing ability or simply feel like bench-pressing more than is customary this day. Whatever works for you, works for me likewise. The canvas I speak of ultimately is just a metaphor for life. We fill it as we see fit. I’m eternally grateful for the fact that I get to share mine with you, in whichever capacity that may be.

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