Crystallized Lenses (and Utter Nonsense)

To the creative mind, the world is both a terrible disappointment and the most wondrous work of art in existence.

Autumn leaves are fiery jewels, all sunsets are worthy of awe, and colored lights shining in midnight rain seem like stars calling to another world. Every tiny detail and every passing figure present opportunities to momentarily live through a different perspective. It is through these glimpses—offered in daily life, should one choose to notice them—that the world seems most beautiful.

And it is because of these lapses in one’s awareness of the present moment that a person can suddenly begin to imagine new things. Once a moment is taken to notice how vibrant the grass is after spring rain, or how delightful the cat sleeping by the windowsill is, the mind is given the permission to wander. So wander it shall.

The first stage of this thought-freedom is generally curious, internal remarks. Small phrases and snippets of paragraphs that comment on what the eyes see, and how something could or might be, and these remarks are not unusual among most people. Strangers might not take kindly to being spoken to about these remarks, but friends may very well appreciate them, taking comfort in this shared peculiarity of the mind.

The second stage brings longer, more complex internal comments. Six-word phrases are slowly replaced by much longer trains of thought, that continue on for perhaps a full minute or two. Sharing these little, personal creations may require a closer circle of friends, and maybe some attention to time and place. After all, these thoughts already are no longer simple comments on imagery, rather, they contain traces of the fantastical.

The third stage is reserved for a smaller portion of the human population. It is the stage when ideas begin to form so quickly that words appear at lightning speed, all at once, and paragraphs turn into pages and pages of thought. It is when entire concepts and stories spin out of the brain on long, delicate threads that take a while to cut. And once the cogs of the mind spin this quickly, and this intensely, acceptance of this state of existence is the only path for the individual affected by it. The machine may slow down, but to halt it completely would be to end the individual’s conscience. It is no longer a mere stream of thought, but rather a waterfall—powerful, continuous, and, at times, somewhat daunting.

To have concepts swimming in your mind like fish in an overcrowded bowl is tiring. They constantly beg to be let out, to be heard and seen. An outlet is needed, lest the bowl overflow and flood the rest of the brain permanently.

With these thoughts of creation, of wonder and ingenuity, come the heaviest weights of disappointment. Why must the snow get so dirty, why must injustices exist, and why are we all restricted in our movement? These thoughts tempt one to fly towards the sun, melt one’s resolve, and have one drop out of the air into the cold sea of despair. Once you imagine how the world could be, you cannot help but fault it for all that it is not.

The only cure for this restlessness is allowing some of these mind tapestries to be shown to the world, and given to the hands to make them from real thread. The tapestries need not even match perfectly; so long as the intent remains the same, the fish are satisfied.

But this is a long and arduous process, and so, discontent is a common feature of creative minds.