At Mercy to My Wizard

In the back corner of my mind sits a little wizard, directing my dreams with his wand. I sometimes don’t know what sort of thoughts my mind holds for me. I turn to my laptop and have nothing immediate to say. I have no memories spouting out at me giving me all the mixings to construct a sentence. What I do is put my fingers on the keyboard and let the wizard’s wand dance. The sparks flying up in my brain, are they mine or are they his?

I’d love to have a job where I am paid to daydream or just think. I love to stay still and think. Blocking out the noise, the chatter and buzz, is not a problem. I have trained myself to go somewhere else in mind only and I leave it to the wizard to find out where that is.

To write, to me, means not to think. I have to let go and let something else take over. I am sabotaged by my thoughts. So, here I am, one who loves to think and loves to write, which requires me not thinking. That’s a conundrum. Instead, I think while I’m not writing, all the time about everything, and when I write… that’s when I relax. I don’t overload myself, I almost meditate. It’s why writing makes me happy. I let the wizard do the work.

He must have on blue today, my wizard, a royal blue, one piece, and shimmery magical smock. His hair is wiry white and he has a stool that is nearly as tall as he. But the most interesting part is the part at the end of his wand. The sparks crack and fizzle, much like the meteor I saw three nights ago or like the glow in the night from a child’s sparkler stick. I find this most interesting because many times, I tell a story to myself, due to this wand and its flight through my catalog of life. I read words after I write them, and it is as if they are brand new to me.

Is this odd? I don’t know. Perhaps I am writing this because I want to know if it is or not. Wizard, tell me, is this off beat?

Wizard says “No, its happiness.” Wizard says, “This is truth.” Wizard says, “I’m no wizard, but you released, instead.”

Off beat or on, it makes no difference. Because Wizard is right, this is happiness. I sit and write and think when I’m not. And I, in the end, get to see a piece of me not influenced by too much thought, spelling my truth out instead.