Imagine to Remember

⁣I write because I must. To explain this need I cannot employ the flowery metaphors of butterflies emerging from cocoons or mothers labouring through the night, it is for me more like performing an exorcism. And who I play in this most dramatic of scenes is unclear, I am all of them and they are all of me. The possessed, the witness, the expeller ghosts. It is as though this entity, this thought this idea, this story, this character or this poem is demanding expression, it is caged by the the walls of my mind and the boundaries of my flesh, it rattles my bones, and swims through my blood, serpentine and silent, it whispers to my soul, and yet at other times lays dormant, making me crazed until I can conjure up enough strength and will to confront it. And finally once it is out, I feel at least for a while, better, I can collapse tired with relief, ecstatic from all the pushing and pulling, and once it is out of me, it can go on to do what it wills in this world. But this sly thing, can be elusive, just as the idea occurs to me in the most inopportune moment, I shoo it away, neglect it, it subsides in the recesses of my mind, hiding from me and I will try for days weeks even to find it again, this lost inheritance of mine, that haunts me and taunts me.⁣
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It is said that ideas must be expressed, out of the collective out of that undifferentiated mass of being, they are made manifest through different mediums, different people, and they come into the word by their own volition, and if not by you then by some other person in some other way, to an audience however small, however obscure, an audience of a few or maybe only one. They come to us like visitations, and extoll us to do their bidding, give them forms, and names so that they may be recognized and in turn recognize themselves. ⁣