I have synesthesia. I won’t get into details, but suffice it to say that perhaps it is this which distracts my train of thought while speaking, or reading, or doing just about anything. Millions of details bombard us every day. Sights, sounds, smells, textures. You can feel a texture, you can hear a song. But in addition to such things, I can see the shape of a smell, or describe a word by the color of it’s spoken sound vs. the color of its written image which also may not correspond to the ‘actual’ (in my synesthetic brain) color of its individual letters, (for I see letters with color.) Creative inspiration showers over me like intricate doilies crocheted by my synesthesia on a daily basis. There are not enough hours in the day to respond. And just as I go off on a tangent while speaking, or writing, I do so while creating.
This self portrait illustrates that- - the irritatingly excessive amount of creative ways to describe my experience in one given moment, including the colors for the letters "i, e, and c" (when they are not capitalized), my Blog name and the date in two-arm semaphore, thought bubbles, pointing in all directions, random doodlings, and me, in color and black and white. It's all there the way I feel it most days. I tune much of it out, though. I think most synesthete's do.
Oh, and speaking of showers: snow…. it’s snowing in NYC. I love snow. I always feel as though I am being blessed when I walk in snow. Something about the delicate touch of each flake as it lands, the silence, the strong sense of water in the air. It’s like a first bath. A renewal. A new beginning. A mini fresh start. Then how dirty it gets so quickly; the initial beauty doesn’t last very long, and sets about its task, serving as receptor for all the ugly and bad. And eventually all that washes away. How very nice.
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