Sources of Inspiration
Inspiration can have different meanings to different people. Also, inspiration can come from many sources: a sudden idea that wakes you in the middle of the night; a chance comment by a stranger that makes you realise something important; a written article or novel, or some other piece of art. Even the most common and mundane things can be inspirational sometimes.
Due to my desire to be a writer in my teens, I have long since associated inspiration with creativity, and in particular writing. Some moments of inspiration can be so profound they last for many years. One moment in my life I can remember with clarity happened 36 years ago. It was mundane, but for some reason inspirational.
I was 19 then and it was winter in England. It was cold outside; in fact, it was cold inside, there was no central heating in the house. It must have been about 4pm, which in the depths of winter was not long before dusk. I was lying on my bed, with a small one bar electric fire giving out a bit of warmth across the room.
I drifted into a sort of half asleep, half awake state. My awareness of all my physical surroundings seemed to dissipate like a morning mist. I knew nothing of meditation then, or yoga relaxation, but it was a similar state of mind I allowed to develop. While everything else dissipated, the light and warmth from the fire maintained a connection I was aware of at different levels of consciousness.
Whether or not I actually fell asleep or not, I don't know. However, the next time I was fully aware, dusk had passed into darkness. The moment I became "alert" again, I was very aware of the fire, providing both my warmth and light. Immediately, I had felt compelled to reach for my notebook and pen, to write down 1 line. I can still remember it even now:
"The fire is on; I see the darkness glowing in my fingertips."
Why I wrote that, I do not know, but it does not matter. I felt an intense need to write down those very words; it was inspired during the short rest I had just had. From then, I had to carry on and complete a poem that evening, with the very same first line.
I think the reason I remember this is the intensity of that inspirational moment. I did finish the poem, but it did not end there. After I slept that night, my subconscious must have been very busy. The next day, I went straight back to that poem. Within a few hours, I was immersed in writing my second novel. The poem I had written was just slightly reworded, and put into normal sentences. "I" became a middle aged recluse. The fire became his fire, the room became his room. The poem became the opening paragraph.
As it turned out, that was my best attempt at writing a novel. I even had one nice letter from a publisher, bestowing me with compliments; but no contract. The novel was not commercial enough for that publisher. It is my only novel that I feel I want want to be associated with. The others were very much those of a young, very inexperienced writer who wrote just for the sake of it. But for some reason, "Recluse" as it became known, was set apart. It was drawn from a very deep inspiration that carried right through to the very end.
