Summer Superfluity

There are times when my wandering/wondering mind struggles to make sense of the myriad of thoughts that parade through my brain. Today Jess suggested that I get some of it out on paper in the hopes of arriving at some understanding. Whether or not this is how your mind works, I hope you are reminded not to balk in the face of overwhelming inspiration. Further up and further in.

J.M. King

The purpose of this entry is to attempt to capture or rather imagine (as related to the word "imagination"), the superfluity of thoughts occasioned by the feeling of inspiration.

Perhaps curiously, perhaps mundanely, I have never really been in lack of inspiration. Books in particular hold a fascination for me. One of the surest ways to demonstrate this principle is for me to take a turn through a bookstore, preferably a dingy, labyrinthine one. I seldom buy from the store these days, but always return like Moses descending from Mt. Sinai, face aglow with holy radiance. I've just returned from spending a few hours reading book spines, perhaps perusing the table of contents or first pages; that much is all I need to open the door to a world of fantastic imagination. I usually browse the Classics, Poetry, Mythology, Music, Foreign Language, sometimes History, Cuisine, Art, of course Fantasy. Each shelf is a repository of such amazing treasures, stacked, stuffed, wedged together in such close proximity that I can hardly look at one without going on to the next. It's childlike wonder! I'm a very cheap date.

But so easily the wonder leads me to the Lake of Mortality wherein I see the limits of my abilities in comparison to the seemingly limitless effluvience of the written word. Where do I start? What path do I take? To love but one book would take a lifetime and more, and I love many, and besides I have a wife, and a dog.

So this flood erupts. More water than can be grasped and me with only my bare hands! Today, my visit from Inspiration awoke in me the longing to:
  • Keep learning German with shadow speaking, reading Friedrich de la Motte Focqué's Undine, and going to Germany to speak with natives
  • Finish reading On Fairy Tales by Tolkien
  • Experience Nature in all her messy vastness
  • Revel in the diversity of sound by sight-reading on the piano
  • Digest and ponder Bach in profundis by continuing to memorize Prelude and Fugue in A-flat Major WTC1
  • Write a fairy tale that employs a lipogram as a sonic/dramatic device
  • Start writing a History of the Prelude
  • Learn Spanish, Russian, Latin, Norse, Gaelic, and more French
  • Listen and begin to understand Shostakovich's Quartets
  • Compose music just for myself
  • Draw more often
  • Share all my passion for life with all people without fear!
  • etc.
This is truly the deluge of polyphonic thought which runs so precipitously through my mind when inspiration strikes. Indeed, it is probably too much for one man, and most certainly too much for one afternoon. After a while, having attempted several baby-steps in any five of the above paths, I realize that I am not really Moses or Atlas, and I have "real-life, grown-up" things I need to do - like wash the dishes. So I relent and attempt to confine myself to practicality, with shoddy results. I cannot shake my inspiration, neither would I if I could. Instead I flounder in debility.

But how to let the joy run rampant? How to ride on the wave and not under it? I would reap from the fields while it is day, but perhaps it is sometimes better to take a cold shower or a nap? Surely this is worth exploring.

A. Rackham

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