Slice #7: A Collection…

Marc Chagall , “The Magic Flute” 1967

I am a dreamer.

Often, I am told I “live in my head” as my mind wanders from topic to topic – tugging me in all directions – causing me to drift away from a conversation, or trail off in the middle of a sentence. Most find my meandering maddening – seeing it as a disconnectedness, a rudeness, while truly I am hard at work introducing my newly acquired thoughts to one of the many familiar thoughts that tumble about in my mind – searching for a connection, the promise of a new relationship. If only I could train my face, so it didn’t betray my wanderings.

I am a collector.

Like the BFG in Roald Dahl’s novel, I steal away into the night and collect things in secret. The BFG collects dreams; I collect other people’s thoughts – words. Breaking and entering into the minds of authors, poets, essayists, really anyone who hasn’t locked up their thoughts tightly – I collect kernels of advice, new perspectives, and ideas.

Gingerly, I hold the treasure in my hands, peering between my fingers – stealing a glimpse of its shimmering shape before placing it gently into a glass jar – labeled with its contents.

Residing on my shelf, my collection whispers to me – they want to be let out, to explore their new surroundings, live a new story. Patiently, they wait for my readiness to release them.

I am a wishful thinker.

Time is oppressive – its dictates and demands prevent me from releasing my ideas from their jars. If only I had more time…


48 thoughts on “Slice #7: A Collection…

  1. Ahhh … another writing thief. We meet again.

    PS — I lifted a line from your post to make a poem for you ..

    Stealing a glimpse of its shimmering shape
    before placing it gently into a glass jar,
    a little shake here to remind it to whom it now belongs to
    tucked into the corner of my writing room,
    covered with the soft fabric of shadows and dreams,
    I head out to borrow more words like milk,
    pouring the stolen artifacts
    over my poems and plays and stories, nibbling at the corners
    of meaning until someone else comes along,
    another writing thief in the night, forcing my hand again,
    we move with the stealth of a reader on the prowl.

    • I love the poem Kevin – you are welcome to steal lines from my writing to “release the slumbering figure” any time. How lovely. I very much remember last year, when you stopped by and left me with a gift of poetry. The difference between the both of us is, you release your collection, and mine remain in jars. You have taught me to loosen a lid or two and see what happens.

  2. Your tale of collecting words and ideas in jars reminded me of the picture book Max’s Words by Kate Banks. I’m sure you will find a way to set the words free in your own writing!

  3. I really love this writing. Your description of the “goings-on” in your own head remind me of what my head is like! I particularly love how you move from the dream-like quality of your “supposing” to the stark reality about time:

    “Time is oppressive – its dictates and demands prevent me from releasing my ideas from their jars. If only I had more time…”

    I hear you, my friend! Thanks for such a beautiful piece!

    • Thank you so much. To say writing is a challenging feat is an understatement. Being forced to corral my thoughts on a daily basis and make some sense in a post is nearly impossible 🙂

  4. I love the imagery in your writing and how you tied in one of my all-time-favorites, The BFG. Your love of words shines through! Keep on writing and thanks for sharing.

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