Music Spell

My fingers slow down again as I type... I’m having a lot of trouble concentrating. My idea keeps weaving in and out of focus, and my mind is straying into random places, but nothing truly or solidly coherent. I get a few more sentences down before I stop again. I lose the slippery thread of focus, and close my eyes as I listen to the music that is playing. And then… The fog comes. After a moment or two, it disperses into a light mist that shimmers ever so slightly as it slowly drifts. I notice that I can still hear the music. The colors around me seem to meld together and blur a bit, as if everything is made of bleeding watercolors. There are muted points of light, mainly in shades of purple, silver, blue, and yellow, that shift and dance, as if hypnotized by the music. I can feel a sort of soft thrum in my veins. The mist brushes against me now and again, as if unformed ideas are tentatively asking permission to enter my being, though my mind remains nearly empty. Everything seems to flow in, out, and around me smoothly. As the music fades away, so, too, does the realm around me. I open my somewhat heavy eyes. I decide to stand up and stretch a bit; it feels almost as if I have been sleeping. There are many reasons why I enjoy music; this is one of them. Something like that does not happen to me with just any kind of music, and certainly not all the time… but I like it very much when it does. 

Thee That Hath no Name

Hello.

This is the second installment of the brain fog adventures. This one was stubborn, and refused a handle, so nameless it shall be. :P 

I lift my head from my shoulder yet again, and set my keyboard aside. Air hisses through my teeth as I pull myself up straighter. Lovely… Now I’m hot, sweaty, and painfully stiff. I’m not going to be able to write anymore today anyway. How is my brain supposed to work properly in this heat? My limbs are weighed down with lethargy, and my head feels like a stuffed animal. It’s all just blurry and foggy and… Foggy? Oh, so this is happening again, is it? Well, it’s literally how I feel, so why not? All I really want is to cool off and have my head cleared. I squawk with surprise as I feel my body hit water. Holy iceballs! Actually, it isn’t really that cold, though it feels like it at first. I find that my feet can touch bottom, and the water is about shoulder height when I stand straight. I let my eyes fall closed with a sigh as my head slips under briefly and then emerges. Without thinking, I begin lazily swimming around. It feels really, really good in here now. Not too cold, and thankfully, not too warm. For the first time, I notice that my feet are touching mostly smooth stone instead of sand. Interesting. I look around. I am glad that my head is not under water, because the scene before me is breathtaking. I am in what appears to be a spring, the water gently flowing around me. There are some uneven spots in the stone; even a few places to sit around the edge where it is a bit shallower. A foot or two from the pool, the stone gives way to grass, trees dotting the terrain, and I can see mountains rolling away in the distance. I’m not sure if the stone and grass is geographically or geologically correct, especially since I haven’t been very many places, but it doesn’t matter all that much. I could change this place into a cave if I wanted to. I don’t; it appeals to me very much. The temperature is still very hot, but the water is refreshing, the sky is cloudy, and there’s a soft breeze. All things that I enjoy. I am content to just swim, float, let the water wash over my skin. I suddenly blink, and then blush. Well… I’ve never… But I am alone out here, after all. I share an impish grin of satisfaction with myself, and whatever little creatures may be around me. I keep moving languidly around in the water. It feels so very wonderful… I could stay here all day. I decide to do just that. When night begins to fall, I use the uneven stone to climb out, and lie in the grass. This time the breeze moves over my skin, slowly helping me dry off. I close my eyes and smile. I can hear the quiet hiss of wind moving through the trees, crickets, a few birds, and a rumble in the distance. Thunder. I tilt my face towards the sky, letting another breeze kiss my skin. Then... I open my eyes… Everything has faded, and I am back in my apartment. I sigh longingly, and head for the temporary relief of a long, cool shower.

An Idea

Hi there.

It’s been quite a long time since my last post. A lot of things have happened in my life, but I’d run out of room if I tried to tell you all of them, so I’ll just skip to the most interesting part, and the star of this post. I made a discovery that I think might help me with something I love doing, but I wanted to give you a bit of background first.

You might be able to tell from my previous blog posts, which I have decided to keep after some thought, that I am a pretty creative person. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. I’ve been doing creative writing for years. It’s a passion of mine, and something that defines part of who I am. However, there’s something that you might not know. All throughout those years, i’ve struggled with very severe writer's block and brain fog, and not for all the reasons you might think. 

It was never that I didn’t have enough time, or that I was too afraid, or that I was setting impossible goals for myself. I would simply just blank out. Sure, sometimes there were situations, like feeling unmotivated, losing or trying to find inspiration, being in a less than ideal environment, etc. But a lot of the time, I would think of something, begin writing, and then at any time during this process, everything would just blank out. There were times where I would look at what I’d written so far and ask, “Okay... what was I doing with this again?” sometimes I would still have the main idea for a piece, and I would read what was there, and it would just sit in front of me and spin around and around, and sometimes I just couldn’t think, no matter what I tried. Even when I tried to not think about it, and then come back to it later. My mind would keep floating and drifting off. So, it wasn’t that I lost the inspiration or the idea, but that I just couldn’t seem to focus, whether it was light or dark, noisy or quiet, warm or cool. Thankfully, there were also times when I managed to get back on track, even if there was a bit of a struggle. What I wanted to get done got done, even if there were many, many breaks, or if it took days, even if it was just something short.

Unfortunately, the foggy brain part also likes to interfere in my daily life. There have been a few times when this has happened even while talking. I would stop in mid-sentence, because I had completely forgotten what I was saying. This has gone on for quite a long time, and I never knew why, until I recently discovered that part of it is due to a medical condition. I won’t get into all of that here, suffice it to say that at least now I know that I’m not dumb, just not good enough, or losing my creativity.

Now that you know all of that, Time to come back to this discovery that I mentioned. I recently made an awesome connection on Twitter. She reached out to me, and we started talking. I answered her questions, telling her a bit about my love of writing and the troubles I’ve had in the process. She mentioned that she helps to delve into things like this, teaching, giving advice, and helping to come up with creative solutions to many different problems. She shared her Youtube channel with me, and I checked out some of the videos. It was during this that something clicked with some of my own thought processes, and an idea sparked. The idea was this. A story that uses brain fog in the literal sense, and does it to my advantage. I’ve written things similar to this, but not in this context. The premise is that if and when I get stuck on something, I am surrounded by literal fog, and then Something Happens. A thought, an adventure, something of my own making. A place where I am transported by the magic fog. In doing so, I am acknowledging that part of me, instead of just getting frustrated, or thinking I’m just losing brain cells. She explains this in one of her videos, in fact. Since things like fantasy, magic, and poetry are already my strong suits, I am able to simultaneously stretch and relax my imagination with this exercise. I thought it would be a good idea to start blogging these little… Episodes, if you will. i’ll share my first story in this post. since brain fog is what these center around, I have named this first one appropriately.

Brain Fog

I smile as I sit down to write. I just got this great idea. It’s really fun. See, I have this unique... uhh... this... what was I just saying? Oh, no... not again! I sigh in frustration. This happens a lot. Sometimes even for easy things. But... wait... I blink several times. Everything is... actually all gray, and it feels dewy. Is this real fog? But... but how? I blink again. Sure enough, it is. In the room. Hmmm... I glance around again. I notice that the gray is shifting and swirling gently. I sigh, somewhat dreamily, wishing that I could fly somewhere, like into the trees. Somewhere in nature and... I gasp, and my mouth drops open. I’m in a forest. The ground beneath my feet is soft and slightly spongy. I inhale, and smell fresh air, earth, leaves, wood, and something soft and slightly sweet. Some kind of flower? Or maybe several kinds. My wings flutter a little as I take another breath. My... wings? Another flutter. My wings; I have wings! I fly up to a sturdy branch and sit. A laugh of delight escapes my lips. I’ve never been able to climb trees, and now I can just fly up and choose a branch. I look around as I hear the beat of another pair of wings. A bird? I’m not sure. And then more. Yes, it must be birds. I can hear soft chirps, whistles, and hoots, and one or two other sounds I can’t quite place. Then, I hear a voice, which makes me jump a little. Oh my lanta! It’s my love! What’s he doing here? I shoot up from the branch, somehow knowing where to go instinctively. We embrace as I laugh again, then share a kiss. He says he wanted to come see me, even though I’m in another world. I wonder how he found me. My eyes show with interest when he tells me that he knows a little spot I’d like. I take his hand and let him lead me to... Oh! I stare as we touch down. A lake with fresh, clear water that reflects the colors of everything around us. Waves lap gently against the shore, the iridescent ripples sparkling. The thick pile of the grass is warm and soft. I catch a whiff of... roses! A tangle of wild rosebushes, the crimson petals open in full bloom. Oh, how badly I want one, or a few, or an armful... A hand comes up to cover my mouth as he approaches the roses, picks one, and removes the thorns with a wave of his hand. He tucks it behind my ear, his hand lingering on my cheek for a moment. He asks me if I want to swim. I respond by running into the water. Before I can protest, he comes up and wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me under and then releasing me. I splutter as my head breaks the surface. He laughs as I splash him back. We just be silly, not caring what the residents of the woods make of us. It is dusk now, though still warm. We slow down, still standing in the lake. I can hear crickets starting to gossip... probably about us. He takes my hand and leads me towards the center of the water. He just winks when I look at him questioningly. He takes my other hand and pulls me closer. Somehow we float without having to tread. We move in slow, lazy twirls, almost as if we were dancing. I smile a little as “Kiss the Girl” pops into my head. He chuckles softly, as if he knows what I’m thinking. We spin just a little faster; it feels almost like dancing on air as we move through the water. Then, we begin rising, until only our feet graze the surface. Now we’re dancing on the water and... oh... oh wow... now we’re going higher. We are gliding on air! It feels... well... like magic. I hear nature’s orchestra, and... something else. Soft... music? Yes. I think, somehow, there is music. It seems to fit in with all the other sounds. Not overpowering them, but weaving together. The effect is spellbinding. We move through the air until we gently land back on the grass. As the dance continues, he gestures, and tiny sparks of light appear, floating all around us. I look up into his eyes... and then am hopelessly lost. Lost in it all, and never wanting it to end. After what seems like forever, yet also only a heartbeat, the dance slows, until he leads me to a place where the grass is a bit thicker. He sits, gently pulling me down with him, where I settle on his lap. Everything is so nice... so perfect. The smells, the sounds, us nestled so comfortably. I begin to feel heavy; my eyes drift closed as the tiny lights ride the breeze into the sky, where they hang like stars. I hear him murmur and whisper, though I don’t catch the words. I feel him softly kissing my face as I sink deeper, my head on his shoulder. I try to open my lips, to speak, but warmth and fuzziness surrounds me as everything slowly fades away. After a moment, I blink. Gray. I had felt a subtile shift when I’d tried to speak, but it was there and gone. And now... the gray fog again. It clears, and I find myself back in the room. I feel... sad. My heart squeezes a little. I sigh, but even still, my heart feels so full, and I smile. I only hope that one day I might return to that place, or another just as wondrous.

My first honorable mention

Hi there, it's good to be back!

I know that it is been a very long time since I have posted in this blog, but I am now picking back up the thread, and hopefully making it better than it already was.
I thought that I would post A short story that I wrote about a year ago or so. I still think it could use a little bit of tweaking, but you know what they say… You are your own worst critic. Anyway, here it is. I hope you enjoy it!

The Grove 

By: 

Jessica Arnold 

 

  Hannah sighed to herself and rolled her eyes as she tried to block out her Mom’s stupid stories. There they were again—she and her two younger sisters, Amber and Mary Beth—a week before Christmas, sitting on that warn couch and listening to the soft lilt of her voice as she told tales about magical lands and flying reindeer. Hannah didn’t believe in mystical, magical things; she had faded out of that stage after their Dad suddenly passed away. It had been two years, but she remembered the way she and her sisters used to sit on his lap, listening to him spin wonderful tales until his words became their dreams. He would do it all year round, but the winter stories had always been Hannah’s favorites. She always got so caught up in them, no matter how many times he may have told them before. She would dream about those lands, and all the creatures within, and make secret wishes. Then, when Christmas morning would finally come, she was always amazed at the gifts that the entire family would get, even though they were tight on money. She never knew quite how it happened, but they always had wonderful Holiday seasons, even when they didn’t get as much sometimes. She had never believed that her Dad, her wonderful superhero and storyteller, could just go away and leave as he did. After it happened, she tried to dream about magic, tried to remember the feelings, tried to visit those lands again, but found she could no longer see them as clearly. As time passed, she slowly drifted further and further away. She now knew that there was no such thing as magic, and that silly dreams and wishes would not come true, for if they did, her Dad would be sitting in their living room right now. 

 

  A log from their old fashioned fireplace popped in the licking tongues of flame, snapping Hannah out of her dismal thoughts. She heard her Mom’s soft voice again, and again, she sighed. It wasn’t that her Mom couldn’t tell stories, because she had done it as well, and she was just about as good as her dad. But everything felt different somehow. Hearing her sigh, her Mom paused. 

 

“Is something wrong, dear?” She asked. 

“Mom, I don’t know why you must tell those silly tales.” 

“Well, you didn’t think they were silly so very long ago,” her Mom replied softly. “But if you don’t want to listen, you can do something else, like go collect pinecones and good felled branches for some decorations to lighten this old place up a bit.” 

 

  Hannah scowled, but she grabbed her coat and stuffed her hands into the thin, winter gloves she got two Christmases ago. She took a small wooden basket off the hearth, and headed out the door. She didn’t see why they needed decorations; they didn’t even have a Christmas tree, and this entire affair was dull anyway. However, she thought of her sisters. They were, after all, still children. Why should they be deprived of some silly things every once in a while? So, she went behind the house, and entered into the woods not too far off their small backyard. Deeper she wandered, absentmindedly sucking on a small homemade peppermint stick. 

 

  She kept walking, until she finally spied a couple of thick pine branches near a fat, squat tree. Picking them up, she knelt to peer underneath. Three pinecones lay side by side, and she took each one to add to her basket. In the end, she found four more branches and seven more cones. The last cone, however, lead her to an interesting sight: In the distance, a few beautiful evergreens shown in the waning sun, their needles greener than anything she had ever seen. Though she didn’t really know why, something compelled her to go over there. It was snowing softly now, and the wind whistled through the woods, creating a haunting, winter melody. Hannah realized that the trees were a little farther than she thought, but she kept going. The grove was larger than she imagined, with pines clustered in staggering numbers. She was about to turn back, when she saw that there was a small gap between two trees. Before she knew it, her feet were moving, and she was pushing through the gap. She looked around, and was completely surprised. The snow in this area was white and pristine, untouched and sparkling in the dapples of the dull light from the late afternoon sun. She seemed to be in a rough circle of thick, tall pines. The grove that she had stepped into was large—so large that she could barely see the other side. Smaller, but still very full and healthy pines dotted the area, their branches covered with a dusting of snow. Dumbfounded, Hannah set her basket down by the thick trunk of one tree, and slowly walked around. Some places had soft, rolling hills, but most of the ground was level. There was still a breeze whistling softly through the trees, and as she listened, she thought she heard faint singing. Shrugging, she stepped deeper, the snow crunching softly beneath her feet. She stopped again and listened; she thought she heard the distant tinkling of bells. 

“Oh, get ahold of yourself.” She said under her breath. Looking closer, she saw that there were also Poinsettia bushes dotting the terrain, their red and green foliage making a lovely contrast to the mostly white background. They were fully in bloom, and gorgeous! She felt that this whole place had an aura of haunting peacefulness and beauty. 

 

“Hello.” A voice said beside her. Hannah jumped, whirling to her right. Her eyes widened in bewilderment. Standing there was a lady garbed in a robe that was as white as the snow. It was trimmed in blue, the color of frozen waters. Her hair was silvery blue, like a winter twilight, and upon her back were beautiful wings. She was a winter angel. Hannah gawked; she couldn’t help it. This couldn’t be real. 

 

“Hello, welcome to our land,” The angel said. “We’ve been expecting you.” 

“But, but…” Hannah sputtered, “Expecting me?” 

“Yes.” Hannah looked, and saw three more women approaching them. They were all dressed in pure white or ice blue. She noticed that one had long, silvery hair, while the hair of the others was either light blue or white. 

“Please, won’t you join us?” One of the others asked. Hannah was trying to think of how to reply, when she gasped as something whizzed past her head. She thought she heard laughter. Another flew near her right ear, reversed direction and came back. More and more appeared, some landing on the heads and shoulders of the angels. 

“Little sprites, our guest has arrived.” Said the first angel. They all quieted, clustering around the group. 

“Welcome to our land!” They exclaimed in their small voices. Hanna saw that they were tiny human-like figures, and they, too, had wings. All were blue—some ice, others sky. Each one radiated with a slight but welcoming glow. 

“Snow sprites?” Hanna asked. The angels nodded.

“They are our friends, and they help keep the place looking nice.” Said the third angel. 

“Come,” The first angel said, “It is time for the celebration to begin.” Hannah followed as everyone moved toward the center of the grove. Upon arriving, she saw that there were a few more Poinsettia bushes here, as well as a full, tall blue spruce. The spruce was decorated from the little yellow flowers of the Poinsettias and small pinecones that had been strung together. There were also some sprigs of Holly with plump, red berries set in the branches. It wasn’t exactly a Christmas tree, but it was a beautiful rendition. A bit farther stood a little cottage, smoke gently rising from the chimney. Icicles hung from the roof and window sills, and the walls were the color of gingerbread. The scene looked like something straight from the front of a Christmas card. 

 

“Shall we go in?” The second angel said, opening the door and ushering them inside. A blast of warm air engulfed Hanna as she stepped in. It felt good after being in the cold. It smelled wonderful, like fresh bread, sweetmeats, and an underlying scent of pine needles and mint. Suddenly Hannah’s stomach grumbled furiously. Everyone gathered at a table in the middle of the room, and food was passed around. Hannah ate with them, and listened to the stories shared after the meal. They reminded her of her family, but strangely, she only felt a slight pang of sadness and longing for her Dad. There was no bitterness at the world, no disgust at hearing stories once brought by his lips, and no anger for his leaving. She wondered if she wasn’t going completely crazy. However, the more time passed in the cottage, the more relaxed she felt. After the storytelling was over, they all went back outside, although Hannah didn’t want to leave the warm fire. 

 

  The angels gathered around the big spruce, along with all of the sprites, and put on a grand show. They sang a beautiful melody, and the sprites moved around them as if they were magical little lights. It almost had a hypnotizing effect on Hannah. Then, they put on a graceful dance. They glided along, twirling and weaving about in an elegant pattern, like a ballet. The sprites also flew, since they were much smaller, and they had tiny bells that tinkled when they moved. At the end, most of them settled, and seemed to disappear into the snow for a moment. Then, suddenly, they exploded out in a cloud of white, and as the resulting shower of snow fell over them to settle back in its place, they ended the dance with a wonderful climax. Hannah was in awe. The sprites began flying around the tree, and each had a small something in their hands, which was exchanged by all, even the angels. The first angel held out her hand, presenting Hannah with a small glittering snowflake. It was made of metal, but it sparkled like gold. 

 

“I can’t accept this.” She said, staring at the gift. 

“Why, of course you can. The sprites made it, and all of us,” She gestured at the other angels, “Blessed it with good tidings and the Lord’s protection. Always remember that he is here.” 

“Thank you.” Hannah said reverently, closing her fingers around the snowflake. For some reason, she felt tears forming, but if the angel noticed, she said nothing. The wind began blowing just then, and snow started falling, swirling and spiraling in the air. 

“It looks like we’d better get inside. May you and yours have a wonderful future filled with happiness.” The second angel said. Hannah was about to reply, when the snow began coming hard, and the wind picked up, blowing thin drifts from the ground and whisking the falling flakes about. It was so thick that the whole land seemed to disappear for a moment or two. Hannah had to shield her face and hunch from the cold. Just as she was starting to wonder how she was going to get back, a final and brief gust buffeted her, then died away. The snow also lightened up, and Hannah found herself standing in the woods, holding her basket. She was a bit dizzy and disoriented, so she sat down on a stump. The woods looked normal, even the pine grove which seemed so huge. She blinked, then slowly opened a clenched fist, revealing the little snowflake. 

“So they were real!” She breathed. After a moment of sitting, she found she could navigate again, and that she was cold. Picking up her basket, she headed in the direction of her home, back to her wonderful family. 

YOU THINK YOU KNOW US AND WHAT WE DO? WELL GUESS WHAT, YOU DON'T!!

Hello, everyone.

Recently, there has been a lot of buzzing around the matter of senator Rick Snider's new proposal for the Commission for the Blind. Many have read the documentation of his plan in an article, and a mob of disturbed, angered, and opinionated voices is rising quickly. On the outside, the proposal looks virtuous and helpful, but with all the professional and lawyer-based grammar, they could be talking about murder! ;)
Snider says that he will make things better. However, we as a blind comunity know better than that. We know what happeneds 9 times out of 10 when our "well being" and "common good", Etc. is put into the hands of the sighted who are "new and unaware". They know not what goes on behind the scenes of us, but rely on statistics, studies, and impersonal, data-based research. The same applies here. He doesn't know the stories, experiences, and journeys of the Commission/students. He doesn't know the triumphs, struggles, battles, or losses, the memories, new discoveries, and life-changing lessons. He doesn't know in what ways people were helped, how their outlooks changed, how their social skills, among others, thrived, and what kinds of impacts were made on lives. He doesn't see the core of the Commission, all he sees is an organization who has certain duties/responsibilities that it must follow. I urge you to look at this petition, and sign it for the thousands of visually impaired/blind/deaf blind students who will be forced out of college, and the workers who will lose their jobs, both Commissioners and students. If you cannot sign, then please share to help spread the word, and ask your friends to sign and share. Here is the link:

http://twitition.com/oc6ox

Back to the Blogging Board

Hey there everyone!

I'll bet you all were wondering if I was still alive. Well, yes, I am. And, proud to say, back to blogging! Thanks to mobile blogger app, it is quite easy for me to post blogs--no more accessibility issues here. :) now, the next question is, what to post next? So, if you have any suggestions and:or ideas, feel free to let me know! Thanks and have a blessed day all. :)

Bumps, Keys, Voices

Hello, everyone.

I know it has been a very long time since I've written in this blog, hopefully that hasn't scared you away. LOL. Anyway, today I have an interesting topic.
Now, this may not be the most interesting thing for a sited person to read, but please just give it a chance, for me. :)
One of my friends on Facebook posted a comment about making a bet on whether or not braille would become "extinct", and placed a bet. This, in turn, started a very interesting conversation. There were many different opinions, and it would take me all week to write them all--my fingers would fall off!!! Anyway, it got me thinking: I never realized just how important Braille is. I mean, I've ALWAYS used it, so I guess I just never gave it much thought. However, the issue of braille meterials already being hard gto find is not recognized by the general public, nor is blindness in general very familiar to them. Braille has been around ever since its creator, and our hero, Louis Braille, has romed this Earth. If not for him, we wouldn't even have a way, be it old or new, to read or gain access to printed meterials that are esential for daily life. I believe that, in order to keep this thing going for as long as possible, we should try to get more people educated on the subject, as an individual and a whole.People need to know that not all of us can live upon technology alone, if at all. And, if more people know about it, the easier it may become to get it out there, and to make some of the stereotypes and/or myths go away. Now, I'm sorry if I've bored you beyond your grave, but I hope you agree. Plus, Braille is interesting... like a foreign language. At least, that's what I've been told. LOL. Okay, that's all for now.

Thans all,
Jessica