I have been away at this charade for most of the day, and now I am ready to go home.
"BE STILL!" I shout to all of my imagined monsters like the child from WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE by Maurice Sendak.
I want this mind to be a bare mirror, reflecting earth, soul, object, light, and color. Then I'd like to wait and watch while ideas appear like hot air balloons, breathing fire and blowing in the wind. I sit and place a white page under pencil. Then I scribble, hoping the sight will write some of the noise away. I will not be eaten up by my wild things. Clatter happens, and when it does, I climb into my paper sailboat and float for home.