I drove the road where “By River’s Bend” wrote into my mind—O Highway headed north in bends through the Big River Bottoms, old timber stands that open to wide, flat fields that are flooded for ducks in the fall, broad plane of timber and flood before rising back into upland hills beyond.
There is a period in the fall when through the bottoms, the road is lined in a brilliance and color that seems epitome of autumn’s spirit. Then, from color-height, the brilliance lessens day by day until one morning nearly all of it is gone.
Do you have places in the world like that—defined and remembered by a story? Real, dreamed, or written fiction—remembrance of the happening or make that defines the place, in mind, forever after?
Much of my world exists this way—symbols and relics of reference to mind-creations—a rich and amazing life I’ve lived that is little more than mind and dream and sometimes captured words.
I try to catch it, write it down to page—a spirit seeking body. Sometimes, I do; and from the fiction, from the dream, elements live true—echoed, repeated, given life and true-experience by reciprocation and return from God: Universe’s soul.
Do you ever live that way, in a world of mind-signs and symbols that reference and define a spirit-life you alone know?
Do you ever try and catch it, put world and life to page—its spirit given body?
If so, I’d love to read.