Lost and Found

This week I have lost two things; an old but much loved kilt pin and my credit card. I’ve cancelled the latter before anyone helped themselves to my account and I have other kilt pins, so no harm has been done. Other, that is, than the feeling of madness rippling through my nervous system. It feels like the tree that holds me together has a high wind blowing through it. I don’t like losing things.

Maybe this was what my system needed in order to get my creative juices going. I’m a great believer in the idea that nothing happens by mistake. And sure enough this week I have been swept away by the creative thrust that I’ve been waiting for since I finished “The Pebble Jar”. I’ve known for two years that the next book in the trilogy is called “Blue’ and on Sunday the opening paragraphs were given to me. I say ‘given’  because that’s what it feels like- a gift of grace, perhaps, from a place that isn’t actually within me. So off I go on my next literary adventure.

Writing a book is a solitary pursuit. I suspect that it will by chapter 10 take me like a lover and my friends will start wondering where I am and my blog will start to look a bit ragged. But it is the most exciting adventure imaginable. I have mapped out the plot on a table sized piece of greaseproof paper in three colours of highlighter pen. Whether I follow it I cannot say. If character IS destiny, I would hazzard a guess that I wont. I have always been the sort of person who pushes on doors clearly marked ‘pull’.

But I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have that piece of greaseproof paper to gaze at and imagine. For it is imagination that is the thrusting tip of evolution to my mind.  A person sitting alone in a room creating a world of romance and adventure through their own thinking process is magic of the best sort. This is the way we have the best chance of discovering the ‘word that has been lost’ that the Freemasons talk about(or don’t as the case may be).

So here I sit waiting for a deeper pattern to emerge. Imagination is the key to open the door to the future. As Jonathan Black says in The Secret History of the World, ‘each individual mind is a protrusion into the material world of one vast cosmic mind.’  the world that will come into being through my imagination over the next weeks will be one that enquires deeply into mysteries and phenomena. I firmly believe that here in the Western world we are being lulled into an unthinking trance-state. Anything that encourages us to imagine possibilities that are not mapped out by science are discouraged by a savage fundamentalist skepticism. The world that is teetering at the tip of my fingers is one that recognises that science is not certain-it is  a myth like any other, representing what people want to believe at this time.

But the wind that is blowing through the tree that is my sympathetic nervous system is indicating that change is on the way and it is imagination that will light the torch that leads us into our collective and brilliant future. So, in truth, I lost nothing this week and found much.


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