“The creative mind plays with the object it loves” – Carl Jung

I happily woke early. I was away from home, the light was readying and the first bird had begun some sleep talking. The happy mind woke while the hand was still paralysed, the water tantalisingly within reach but bodiless me just couldn’t get corporeal enough to reach for it.

How does that happen?

So my mind went wandering. Made up a poem and memorised it, got excited about having finished one book, and debated which was next. Solved some work-related problems, threw the doors open to some worst-case scenarios, worried and checked the time. An hour had passed; must soon be shower time. Better not be late!


You have got to be joking.

It was like being a child again, bedded and having to stay there ’til socially permissible up-time. What a great thing – feeling well rested with hours of mind-wandering fields to play in. And even better, this posting has been writ on the train, my evening plans cancelled, my life my own again, all for more silly sanity-rendering meandering. (That’s no self-denigration; “silly” derives from the Anglo-Saxon selig which meant “blessed” – like “holy” comes from helig). What am I getting at? That when your mind relaxes, it creates. Quality’s not guaranteed, of course…

Am about to plunge,
Cold slap, pore-flooding burstingle
Into your book.

That was the 4am poem. Well, I liked it. I said a new book was exciting me, didn’t I?