Daily, you find yourself in the moment,
experiencing life, balancing on a wire.
Until dusk falls, then slowly,
you release your hold on the day.
The dream world subtly lures you into its embrace,
the thick silence of reality filters away,
only to be replaced with the sound of merriment,
and party goers.
The arts ever beckon,
even in your dreams where you seek your muse.
Creating is not limited to any one form,
entertaining others is a journey of all the arts.
It is not uncommon to find that you are performing,
your movements and expression giving voice
to that bottomless well of desire
that resides within your psyche.
Your skin is rough from the salt filled air,
itching and hot from the sunburn that covers you head to toe.
It distracts you from the swaying wire beneath your feet,
you brush the residue from the back of your neck,
and fight for balance.
Slowly, you take a cautious step,
your toes curling around the wire,
the humidity an oppressive wall that you force yourself through
as it saps your energy.
The fire jugglers watch, envious as you pull in their audience.
The gymnasts glare and leap higher with crazy distortions.
The audience gasps, and leans with you
as you slip on the damp wire,
fighting to stay on the slick surface,
your toes cramp sharply and you stop,
swaying jerkily, your heart matching each crazy lurch,
fighting for balance despite the pain.
The wire fights your control,
then suddenly relinquishes the battle,
your heartbeat finally slows,
and you can once again breath.
Fading sunlight is reflected on the sea of faces that surround you.
A wallpaper of humanity,
nothing there personal,
just echoes of other dreamers.
The sounds of the crowd that fill the Square soothe you;
they too, are searching for something
as the fiery tropical sun sinks
beneath the waves that frame the horizon.
A spark of color and light above the crowd captures your attention.
Your pulse begins to race as again you fight the wire for control.
You know it is her,
the muse, your destiny.
A miniature hot air balloon wafts in on the tropical heat,
lunging forward to capture it,
you almost fall,
but balance at the moment before you dive to the concrete below.
Frustration wells up from the depths of your chest,
in that place that you suppose your soul resides.
This tiny meme is not her,
anger leads you to destroy it,
a needle mysteriously at hand for that end.
You brace for the end of the illusion,
You hold onto the small wicker basket,
the rough wood piercing your hand,
you feel her,
a tiny flicker of her reality.
It washes through you,
stilling your hand in its damning journey.
She is out there.
You release your prisoner,
and watch, as the small craft floats away,
then you turn to study the horizon
from where it came.
She is there.
** ** **
This is a composite of 5 different pictures. I was inspired to do this piece by the street performers of Mallory Square. My model, Trevor Scott, challenged the laws of gravity for me to get this shot. It is a little edgy and grungy, but remember this dream segment is a guys perspective.
I can feel the dreamers searching for each other, it is a journey filled with melancholy and strife. I do hope the guy gets his girl, and that the Hunter stays hidden.
Thank-you for your time,
if you would like to see the images in a higher resolution, please visit my website http://www.fierytailimagery.smugmug.com
and if you are new to my blog, please start from the oldest post and follow the story as it progresses through each post.