I had an idea for an entry as I lay in bed yesterday night. It was about a guy talking to another guy about the passing breeze. There could be a philosophical undertone but I don't remember now.
What I do remember is telling myself to get up and write the idea down, so that it forms as a nice story I could read when I wanted more ideas. But I got lazy and stayed in bed, telling myself that it should still be in my head when I wake because it's a great idea, and that I would get to writing it when I was awake.
I can't imagine how many times I've told myself that, and the many times I never got to writing anything down.
And so it dies - the idea, and the inspiration that might have followed.
But perhaps ideas never die, or at least their influence. They fade into the darkness of your consciousness, only to rise when your mind ripens. This piece of work I'm typing out now clearly stems from the lingering wisps of the story from last night.
So I guess it's like energy - displaced but never lost. From the inaction of last night comes the volatility of the moment, fingers frantically trying to catch up with my mind, the words disappearing faster than they can manifest, red spell-checking worms crawling across the page.
And so it is true for all things thought lost and nonreturnable. You may not know it, but my advice is to never stop searching, for when the mind is willing, the end is never far.
But take caution, dear traveler, for all who waits may not be rewarded their just desserts.