He sat at his desk, fingers resting on the keyboard, waiting for some inspiration. It seemed to be some time since he was able to restart the flow of creativity from his mind to his hands. Many ideas stirred within, waiting for the right moment to come alive. He withdrew his hands and leaned back in his chair, head resting on his head rest. There above him sat a painting that was and had been an inspiration for some time. It was interesting to see how some of his friends and acquaintances viewed the painting. To some it was a ship sinking at sea and to others it was a ship overcoming a storm. Looking around the desk there was not a thing out of place. The way things were laid out was almost to the point of obsession.
He placed his left arm across his chest and rested his right arm in a way that bridged his chin to his left arm. In this thoughtful position he slowly spun to the right. There before him were some of his most valued possessions, his books. They were not valuable in themselves but in what they meant to him. There were sacred texts, history book, photography books and even some fiction and science fiction. Sprinkled among the books were small trinkets that he had collected from around the world over his several decades of life. At this point none of this sparked his creativity or brought him inspiration. The photographs and paintings in the room sat impotent to make an effect this day.
He spun to the left and got up from his chair, his back aching from sitting too long in one position. He stretched as he got up and headed out the door to the living room. Normally the view from the living room would have been inspiration enough; today it did not provide it.
The windows faced a view of a steep slope of tropical mountain falling fast to meet the ocean with deep and varied shades of green. The screen-less windows allowed a comfortable breeze to pass through on the way to the other side of the room, caressing the writer on the way. The air was damp with the promise of rain, though the waving trees did not show if the wind had decided to bring the rain this way or not.
The writer decided to go to the beach below and see if he could be reacquainted with inspiration. He made his way down the carefully tended but rustic path to the beach below. He kicked off his sandals and walked through the hot sand to the cool beach and surf. He sat on the beach and allowed the waves to wash up and around him, embracing him as they came up and encouraging him to go deeper as they withdrew. He sat meditating; contemplating what had brought him to this point in life. When reflecting on his past he saw that each step of life brought him along the journey to the point where he now found himself. It seemed that when you look to the future there is so much uncertainty, when looking at the present there is a determination and when reflecting on the past there is a clarity of how each event in life built on the previous one to lead to what is and on to what will be.
He slowly heard a foreign sound in these parts, the sound of a dog barking with a liveliness of spirit. At some distance he noticed a young woman walking with her dog to the surf. They approached the beach together and then started to splash each other in the waves as they came up to greet them. At one point the dog came up to where he was sitting and sniffed at him with curiosity. He petted the dog and scratched its neck as the young woman approached. He arose and greeted the young woman. They spoke for a short time but it was not the words that had import that day but the tone of the conversation. It seemed that the joy and happiness that he saw expressed earlier was a normal and natural state for the young woman. It was as if the thought of trouble had no home in her life. They talked for a while until she excused herself to follow her little dog onward down the beach. He stood transfixed after the conversation. He looked up to see a wall of dark green and blue heading his way, the wind having made its decision to bring the rain in his direction. He watched the wall of water head closer and closer proceeded by a cool and refreshing breeze, a precursor of the cleansing water to come. He turned and hurried up the path and back to his house. He stood back in his living room watching the wall of water approach, the trees suddenly buffeted by the oncoming wind. The breeze escalating through the house announcing the rain that followed. The rain pelted the tile and straw of the roof creating a song of its own, every once in a while a clap of thunder would respond to the voice of the rain and join it in its own unique song. The sky was a deep blue grey but somehow he was feeling elevated and awakened. It slowly dawned on him as he watched the lightning display dancing among the trees that the last piece of the puzzle had come together. His computer beckoned him, anticipating the stream of new found consciousness that would pour through it. He took a deep breath as a grin slowly grew on his face. With a light heart he approached his office and sat at the computer. He then found himself typing away at a speed matching the cadence of the rain on the roof and in a spirit that matched his new found awakening. It was a new found beginning.
-Shiidon, January, 2009
This story has been long in coming. The view and location of the house described in this story was inspired by a place at Disney World. I lived in Florida for several years. I went to Disney World the first couple of weeks it opened so many years ago. Whenever a relative would visit they would take us there. At the time you had tickets for each ride and there were few free rides. The wings of man was one sponsored by Eastern Airlines. The "E" tickets would get you to the Haunted Mansion or the Pirates of the Caribbean. There was one place though that took my breath. It was the Tiki Room. It was a room with fake windows with tropical scenes around and animated robotic birds filling the rafters of the room. There was a show and the birds would have conversations and sing. But the part that was breathtaking for me was the view from the fake windows. It was a tropical paradise which at one point had a lightening storm and a cool breeze of air conditioning would blow over us. They weren't coordinated but coincidental. While I have lived all over the world and seen many places, that scene is always my little piece of heaven and the inspiration for this story.
A short prayer comes to my mind when I think of a happy place to be:
Blessed is the spot, and the house, and the place, and the city, and the heart, and the mountain, and the refuge, and the cave, and the valley, and the land, and the sea, and the island, and the meadow where mention of God hath been made, and His praise glorified. -Bahá'u'lláh
