Today my husband Mark and I went to Kinsol Trestle at Shawnigan Lake. I am terrified of heights and the sucker’s high! I concurred my fear and galavanted across, Mark and I towered over the river bellow.
On the other side a trail lead us to the rivers shore. The bird sang in the greenery around us. The river rushed past as we stood on its bank astonished by its beauty.
Mark dipped his toes in the cold water and let it pound against him. Leaves and feathers swirled in the crystal clear water. I sat on the rocky mound to admire the peaceful tranquility all around us.
Hunter green needles shift to a shimmer of emerald green as the light spring breeze toys with each thin branch. The broad leaves around them rustle in light melody that picks up into a swirl of tones as the invisible force gains speed. The hot beams of light warm my skin, I could seek the shade of the cedar and maple but the cozy heat melts away the ability to move.
My skin tightens as a scurry of teeny tiny feet touch my shoulder. I am visited by a black pinhead sized arachnid. My heart jumps to my throat. It’s so small, no need to fear. The tense muscles relax and the right corner of my lip turns up, just a tiny creature. I swipe it from my warmed skin and watch as it carried on its way through the grey-blue gravelled ground.
By the silver chain link fence, a Robin plucks through the wood chipped covered yard. It’s tiny beak scoops up a small wiggly treat. With a proud joy-filled flap of strong brown wings, the bird takes flight. Vanishes in the denseness of the greenery.
Whenever I need you, you’re there. Whenever I sing to you, you never complain. And whenever I need someone to listen, you never interrupt. You’re a wonderful friend, thank you.
Steering Wheel, you’ve never let me down in my time of need and listen to my mindless babble. You enjoy the loud top of the lungs singing, and the silent cruises.
You are the greatest friend.
Written with love,
Can you control your dreams?
Lucid dreams are really amazing. At first, realizing what was happening was difficult, and sometimes nothing would happen at all. Now, I can manipulate the dreams to my disire. Fighting zombies, ruling the world, you know normal things people dream about. The only thing I am still unable to do is change from inside to outside, vice versa. When I am inside I can change the walls from shades of green to vibrant purple amathist, but can’t add a window. If I am outside and come to a building. The walls are barren… No doors or windows. Empty.
When I was a child I had many nightmares and began logging them in a diary I hid in my closet door. They happened at least three or four times a week. After a while I realized that I could remember the slightest details. Then I wrote them like short stories.
One night I fell asleep and realized I was dreaming, lasted for a minute or two. When I awoke I remembered the feeling I had. I wrote it down.
Then one night the wall of the house was an ugly dull yellow, with the slight shift in thought it faded green. A dull ugly green, but any colour was better then yellow. I wrote it down.
Every time you dream, write it done right when you wake up. Recalling the images of your dream helps you see the difference from the dream world and reality. Play with it, your dreaming. Have some fun. Fly. Breathe under water. Move objects with your mind.
Working in a daycare my creative side is put to the cutesy test on a daily basis. The children love their art and expect new fun ideas. This sometimes interferes with my adult creativity. Mature art forms are harder to apprehend when I spend eight hours a day, five days a week, thinking of craft ideas for children.
The manuscript I’ve been working on is for mature audiences, and is an escape for my mind. A way that I can let loose all the horrible thoughts and twisted ideas. Everyone needs an output. The woman that lives below me yells at her man daily, I really don’t want my output to be that way. I love and respect my husband to much to yell and swear at him. It all got me thinking. My writing is my output, has always been, even when I didn’t know it. I had wondered why I would right such dark passages within my pages… I’ve been yelled at for being overly positive before. Always looked on the bright side of life. Why? The answer is the way I relieve my frustrations, fears, and release. Escaping to writing has helped with my anxieties and when I have became depressed.
After I figured this out I looked at creativity in a whole new way. At the daycare if a child is having an off day I would asked them to draw or build with play dough. Its been working wonders!
I shifted my eyes to my friends creativity. My roommate, this tall metal head, and nicest person you’d ever meet. For months and months I’d hear him play the same song on his accordion, singing it all over the house, and having it play over and over on his iPhone. It was tough, and a little annoying… then I got to see the video. Amy, the singer/song writer created a beautifully creepy music video. I really enjoyed watching and hearing the song in full for the first time. Those that put their time and ideas in to Amys’ creative blender cooked up delicious food for the eyes and ears.
Below is the video that Amy created, click the link to watch.
The Dead Man Is Missing
By Amyrose Hamelin
The Dead Man Is Missing
Music is in all their hearts, flows out of them with every breath. Each of them played with their own personality, you can see their passion, their love. I only know Andre and Amy, both are really
nice amazing people.
Everyone has something to give to creativity, even if you think you don’t look at around you. How you hang things on your walls, how you’ve set up the room to fit the way you like it, your pictures you took and posted on Facebook, or the way you’ve done your hair. Most things we do take time to think about and readjust till it’s right.
Painters, sculpters, writers, musicians, and everything after and between. Excluding those who view and admire. Everyone has given something to the creative mind.