The Lady of Thought

 

You probably won’t believe that she exists. Though I give you my word that I have met her, only those who themselves have met her will believe me. Perhaps you will recognise her in my description. Others will probably tell you that is not the way she looks, or even more importantly the way she is. I am going to tell you about, what I think, was our first encounter. It occurred in the attic. What is it with attics that, makes them smell so old, although they belong to a new house? Through the smell of old books and dried up apples she danced making the dust swirl. She danced so fast my thoughts started turning like birds trying to get out of a maze. She caught me off-handed and brought me flying beneath the sloping ceiling. Looking through boxes of other peoples’ lives, we flew over a couple of continents following diverging thoughts like beads on many a different string. As my mother called out that the dinner was ready her bodily presence had to leave me. I kept her image secretly within me and as I sat down to eat I couldn’t help but smile. The chatter of my parents went by me unnoticed. The touch of basil in my mother’s famous sauce let me leave the room for better places, just as she had said. Since then she has always been by my side, showing herself when needed to get a proper distance to all around me.

She has told me herself that she used to come to my cradle to tell me stories or sing me a lullaby. A couple of times she has proven her case through logic deduction. Off course she is right. I used to have the same crazy ideas before the attic incident thus I have to have met her before. On the other side, it is a bit hard to know what to believe when the one, one is talking about is a notorious storyteller. I wouldn’t say a liar, it is a bit harsh and then what would it make me.

She has probably infected me with her stories. Sometimes I do not know if I am the one telling or if she secretly whispers all in my ear for me to verbalise. Authors talk about inspiration perhaps that is the lie. They are all just lucky. They all met this beautiful changeable lady of thoughts. It might be my own lies but I think she comes to those who need her most. Of course she visits everybody from time to time, but can they see her.

If you know her perhaps you wouldn’t agree with me that she is a she or mostly wears long green frocks. At least she did in my childhood. In my thoughts she will always wear a long green robe as she did at our first encounter. Nonetheless I have encountered her in all kinds of clothes and shapes. For you she might be a man. When I think of it, she is rather androgynous, especially in her twenties’ outfit. She can be tiny like Tinkerbelle, hiding in a bowl of grapes or popping out of a book. She has no reason because she lets me see the world outside all reason. Unreasonable is her craving for me to follow her into unknown realms.

She makes me see things most people do not see. She is a rather arrogant lady, although really fond of children. She believes her powers to be the greatest and teaches all her fiends to believe in her. But like the belief in Santa Claus or an imaginary friend most children grow up to forget about her loosing all real contact, only experiencing her as a flicker in their thoughts now and then.

Sometimes one can see other people having encounters with her. Whether they are on first name terms or not no one knows. One can only see how they experience her in subways, in a café or simply passing on the street. They get this faraway look that comes over you when she catches you. 

An empty page, a fragile insect on my fingertip, the angel of light, a woman laughing, a leave, a stone oh so different from all other pieces of gravel under my feet,  a word used quite differently can get me going for hours.