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Luna Creevey [userpic]

Searching for direction

April 20th, 2010 (10:49 pm)
curious

current location: In my mind
current mood: curious

“Still stuck, Radish-cakes?” Daddy asks as he pulls some stubborn roots from the ground.

I kneel beside him in the earth above Ness Keep. The earth is hard from being trodden down by the thestrals, Tripod, Colin, and me. I set down the trowel and reach into it to break the clusters into soft soil. “Yes. How did Mum become inspired for her inventions?”

He rocks back onto his heels when I ask him this. “Do you know, I think it was different every time. Sometimes she was inspired when we were gardening. Sometimes it was when she looked at you. Sometimes it was while we were at the shore or planting squash or lying underneath a beech tree or eating breakfast.”

I sprinkle fish-bone meal into the soil and use the trowel to work it in. “So it wasn’t one thing she did,” I note, disappointed. I had hoped that there was some secret.

“No, it wasn’t,” he agrees.

“I just don’t know what else I can do,” I sigh. “I’ve tried lying by the brook. I’ve taken broomrides. I’ve watched people. I’ve met with friends. I’ve asked people. Nothing has worked.”

“What sort of things do you want to invent?”

“Things that help people. The Purely Educational was meant to help with studying, but that turned out to be good only for intimacy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Daddy points out.

“No, there isn’t,” I agree, “but it didn’t help in the way I had hoped. Then I was going to do the memory ribbons for studying, as I needed them myself to hear what the professor said in class. That turned into regular books instead.”

“And that’s helpful.”

“Yes, in a different way,” I agree. “And I tried to make a lozenge for subject-specific recall, but it’s so far beyond my current abilities.”

Daddy reaches into a box with his earth-darkened hands and pulls out a small bulb. “Luna-berry,” he says contemplatively, “let me ask you a question.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“If somebody asked you what you would like them to invent that would be helpful to you, what would your answer be?”

“Well…” I poke my finger into the earth to make a hole and drop a seed in. “Well…what would be helpful now…for me…would be something that would clear my creativity-block. But it isn’t for me,” I explain.

“Perhaps, but you aren’t the only creator in the world, my brilliant girl.”

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Posted by: Luna Creevey (nm_luna)
Posted at: April 21st, 2010 05:55 am (UTC)
I Want to Believe

I stayed home today to think. I know I should’ve gone to the office, but so much of everything—the realization that the entire company and all my employees and Colin’s and my financial comfort depend on my inventing something new, all the failed ideas, the laboratory that lies waiting for me, the research that I have read and read and read toward a fruitless end—makes my head spin.

I’m not used to feeling discouraged. I’m not used to my mind being stagnant for so long. New ideas always came so easily before, but with idea upon idea being unreachable, I couldn’t stop myself feeling discouraged. Then I stopped thinking of things. It makes me a little afraid. This is what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life, and it’s so fragile that it can stop so easily.

I pull my eyes from the fire, wishing I didn’t feel as helpless as I do. How can I expect to think of something if my heart is low and my spirits are discouraged and my mind keeps telling me I can’t?

“Think of something else,” I tell myself, walking from the sitting room into the library. I turn to the left and pause by the shelf of memories. I pick one of the small vials and hold it up, watching the little silvery memory move about like mercury.

Memories really are remarkable, the way your mind can store so many events and sensations, both mechanical and sentimental. No matter how many you store, your mind doesn’t become any heavier, and there is always room for more. And that we have found a way to make a memory into something of substance, a tangible object that can be viewed with clarity and shared with someone who isn’t even a part of the memory, is amazing.

I put the vial back on the shelf and take up the ribbon I made of some of my favourite memories. Colin has his photo albums and I have my ribbons. I like looking at both of them, but I know that for the sort of stuckness I’m experiencing, I need to just be somewhere else.

I bring the ribbon with me to the loveseat and arrange a pillow right next to the armrest. As I lie down, my head and shoulders settling into the pillow and my calves perched on the other armrest, Peleira pads into the room and jumps up onto my stomach.

With the comfortable, warm weight of my cat on my body, I close my eyes and place the ribbon over my eyes. I immediately fall into the memory of choosing the memories and choose one now, Colin’s and my walk in the coastal redwood forest during our trip to California.

Posted by: Luna Creevey (nm_luna)
Posted at: April 21st, 2010 05:56 am (UTC)
Sharing Excitement

I feel myself falling forward and just as suddenly as I began, I stop and find myself in the middle of a gorgeous grove of tall trees and lush ferns.

Colin and I are seated on a fallen tree in front of me. We have both stopped talking to listen to, breathe in, exist in the forest. The air is quiet, but a living sort of quiet, like there is an undertone of the life around that is so peaceful, a busy body can’t hear it. Somewhere far away, there’s a brook and if you’re as quiet as you can make yourself, you can hear it. There’s a small breeze rustling the ferns. A small animal is skittering through underbrush. The largest sound is our breathing now, both his and mine in the memory, and mine now as the experiencer.

I remember the smell of the forest, damp and rich and earthy. The air was chill, even in the midst of summer. Around us, there were a million greens and half a million browns. It was such a beautiful feeling, to be so small in a large area with fresh nature, fresh air, and the fresh love of Colin. I had felt so lost back then, looking for a job, so discouraged because nobody would have me and my future looked hopeless. But when we sat out in this beautiful and ancient innocent place, my worries and fears and frustrations seemed so unimportant. What did it matter if I would never have a job? I had love and I had knowledge, I had my health and I had my friends.

I walk around inside the memory of the ancient forest. I feel so small, but safe and peaceful at the same time. I can feel my mind clearing from the murk of fear and frustration and expectation that have been weighing heavier and heavier over the growing months. I breathe in deeply, even though I know that what I’m breathing is just the air in the library, not the air in the ancient forest. My chest seems to lighten, and I hadn’t before noticed how heavy my heart had become. But now I feel free and full of hope.

I tilt back my head and throw my arms wide open, reveling in the feeling of freedom. Why did it take so much to find this? How could I have become so lost? Now my mind is freed from all those obstacles and it can work again toward a creation.

I laugh. Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful feeling! My voice doesn’t echo through the air, but the quiet makes the sound large though it is swallowed by the size of the trees. I twirl around, my arms moving through the memory of the air and not disturbing it one bit. I may not feel the breeze, but I do feel the exhilaration of the movement and the joy and I simply have to find myself a quill and parchment right away, should the ideas begin to form.

My hands fly to my sides and I start to reach into my pocket before I stop myself short. This is nothing but a memory, and all things inside it will remain just as it is, a memory. Even if I could take out a quill and parchment, whatever I have written will never see the outside.

I tilt my head in thought. Even if a memory is incredible, as fantastic as it has made me feel so free, reality and the present day are the only place where I can note down the manifestations of my thoughts. If only there was a way that I could join the two, bring the beauty of the memory to the present and to reality, where the freedom of mind can meet the tangible.

That’s it.

That will be my next creation. I will create a way to bring a healing place to a weary and frustrated soul. I wasn’t alone. People are always finding themselves lost and worried. The world is filled with trials. Fred and George help them to laugh. Perhaps my role is to bring them a peaceful mind.

I step up onto a felled tree and look around me at the large and beautiful place. There must be some way that I can create some sort of experience that will emulate the qualities of such a place that can soothe a soul.

I reach my hand up, concentrating on my real hand and not just the one in my mind, and take hold of the ribbon. As I slide it off, I feel myself dipping back up from the memory and into the library.

For a moment, I simply look up at the ceiling. Peleira’s warm weight is still on my stomach. Her purrs fill the room. I smile to myself. “I have found where I am to go,” I tell her and rest my hand on her shoulders as I set the ribbon on the table beside me.

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