Creative Process

Meanwhile, deep inside my thought process, an idea starts to form. It is like an itch that begs to be scratched. I can visualize a door slightly ajar. I know something is wonderful behind. Something totally amazing that will benefit all mankind.

The intuition of discovery is overwhelming. Through the slender opening light is emitting. I take hold of the doorknob. When I push open this door, all will be revealed. I am hesitant, wondering if I am worthy of the treasure inside. Maybe not, but I have to go on, for sake of the rest of the world.

This room beyond the door encloses all the secrets of the universe (Before they are hatched, all my ideas feel like they will reveal all the secrets of the universe). I am inches away. The door is fast in its tracks and does not budge easily. I have to put my shoulder to it and shove. The door creaks in protest. It moves fractions at first and then suddenly it swings wide. I almost lose my footing and have to quickly regain my balance. I find myself in a room filled with blinding light.

I squint trying to focus on the center of the room where a shoebox shape sets on table. All is glowing white. I hear a faint humming from the box. At first the hum is annoying like the buzz of a mosquito, but then the tremor of the noise begins to go up and down like a toy kazoo. The hum turns into a tune and I recognize it as "Do You Believe in Magic?" an old 1960's song by the Lovin' Spoonful.

I grasp the top of the box to remove the lid. Although my eyes are shut tight, through my eyelids the white blindness pushes through. I don't know how much longer I can bear the brightness. I have no idea on how I will be able to look at the contents of the box. I must continue on. I know I am risking my vision, but that matters not compared to what lies within the box. I pull back the box top and anxiously allow my right eye to peek open. Inside of the box is a small creature that I immediately recognize. It's Bobby the two headed pygmy and he's playing a kazoo.

I always knew that Bobby was small, but I never imagined that he could fit into a shoebox. But why not, Bobby is figment of my imagination. I had created him on the spur of the moment a week or so earlier. Bobby's right head looks up at me and says, "About time you showed up." His left head says, "Damn straight." I apologized and Bobby's right head says, "Okay, just don't let it happen again." His left head says, "Damn straight." It was possible to hold a conversation with the right head of Bobby, but his left head will only say the words "damn straight." Bobby goes to a switch on the inside of his box and turns down the intensity of the light. "I was just trying to tan," he explains and his left head says, "Damn straight."

That's enough of this for now. I will try to pick it up later. To which Bobby's left head says, "Damn straight."