Hope (or, Rituals)

I awoke from the strangest dream this A.M., where a young woman in a rundown apartment building was trying to cast a protective spell of Hope around me. Thing is, it didn't work. But this isn't negative, you see -- I got the distinct impression that the lesson learned is this: Hope comes from within; it isn't handed to you with a wave of a wand. Voila!

My OCD has been a little worse than usual lately, but my ways of reigning it in have also been stronger and healthier. Eating right (or better, I should say) and exercising more sure do make a world of difference. Along with a good night's sleep. Been thinking about my little daily quirks/rituals/habits that make me look like a basketcase -- and possibly charming -- at the exact same time.

Some of my rituals:
*kissing my rings before I put them on, for good luck
*chatting (internally) with my mannequins, dolls, and statues, and giving them different places in the home so they can shift around and flex their creative muscles
*adding a dash of cinnamon (and sometimes a drip of vanilla extract) into the coffee grounds for an extra splash of magic
*while driving, solving "mysteries" on license plates of the cars in front of me by deciphering the acronyms/letters (i.e. 234 CNS...."Oh, 2+3+4=9, which is a spiritual number -- three trinities combined -- and CNS stands for 'Christopher Nathan Sinclair', my first name, middle name that you all know me by, and last name that my family all once considered taking instead of Buck, so this is a sign that it's going to be a blessed day for me!")

....Okay, I think I'll stop at three, but only because I don't want to make a joke out of them. Although I do think my habits are fun(ny), and that we all do these kinds of things but just don't always admit to them publicly. One thing some of you know about me is that I love to communicate with the characters in my stories, and that I believe -- I should say, I know -- they've chosen me to tell their tales. Just like we're flesh and blood, they are ink and paper, but their realm/dimension is just as real, and in an Alice Through the Looking Glass kind of way, they might be curious about us the same way we're curious about them. We're the ones who get channeled like muses. That's why writing is not a solitary art, in the end; I get to spend time with these people almost everyday, and they surprise me constantly. I owe it to them to flex my spirit, hone my craft, be a good listener, and to follow them rather than yank them in a direction I think they want to go. Critics have said, "But doesn't that take away from your own responsibility to the story and to the craft?" As I stated above, no, not at all -- I still need to practice and be disciplined and check my ego at the proverbial door. But I suppose, out of all my rituals, this is the one that people might scratch their head at the most, this idea of a divine force outside ourselves that we do such a delicate dance with, one of trust and safety and letting go. Because in the end, I do believe everything is imbued with energy -- people, rocks, rivers, characters, your computer screen you're looking at right now -- and that all the particles are working together in physical and spiritual ways to paint the Puzzle of the Universe. The older I get the more I realize I know less and less about things; funny how wisdom is a paradox; what we end up learning is that we don't know much about anything at all, and that the gray zone takes over the black-and-white more often than not, but we also are more calm because of this knowledge, more willing -- hopefully -- to not cling to old tenets that feel worn and sad and misused.

So that's all. I just decided to sit down and do a stream-of-conscious type freewrite. This is what popped out. Enjoy!

N

p.s. My muse's name is Cassandra. She inhibits my first mannequin, whom I got in Holland, Michigan. She practically screamed at me to come home with me. She's lovely and old and majestic, and right now I've got her dressed in a blue sleeveless T-shirt Jess sent me. Thanks, Jess -- she likes it, and it's a perfect fit! Oh, summertime....