Story about Inspiration - Essay Example

English Story about Inspiration What a marvelous phenomenon inspiration is! The feeling of lightness and ability to create, enthusiasm and great pleasure. There is certainly something magical about it. Millions of people around our big world - those involved in sophisticated artistic activity or those engaged in pragmatic and dynamic affairs – try to seize inspiration in its capricious splendor. Even a small intangible glimpse may give rise to the most vivid and creative thoughts and aspirations in everyone. Let it be a painter, engulfed by the effort of finishing a picture, a saxophonist generating sweet luring sounds of jazz, or a simple office clerk seeking the source of fresh ideas in his work, - inspiration is what they all need. And even more than this, - inspiration is what gives spring and color to life, feeling every day with sense. Have you ever thought, where it comes from? I mean, who adds a sprinkle of inspiration to everything you attempt? Have you ever noticed that there is some kind of magic about all that? * * * “Lynn, darling, you should spend some time outside the city. You haven’t painted for ages”, - said a brunette woman well over forty, curving her lips in a compassionate smile. The only dear person left in this world, Lynn’s mother understood her sorrow like no one else could. Lynn’s brilliant talent for visual arts and painting in particular was a matter of jealousy for many of her mates, however, her appetite for painting had withered after her father’s death. And the origins of this lay not only in the dim despair and grief from losing a parent. It lay also in the fact, that her father was an irreplaceable mentor who was the first to open the colorful world of painting to her… And actually taught her to paint. As he passed away, the girl felt that her inspiration left her, too. Having packed an ethnic-printed backpack rough-and-ready, she slipped into her favorite sweater, kissed her mom good-bye and commenced her journey to the Scandes. As the packed bus was treading its way along the snaky roads, and trees flashed in the window like colorful splashes of green, terra-cotta, yellow, emerald and red, Lynn mused over the memories of the past and anticipated her three-day staying in the woods. “Well, probably, I’ll find my muse in the northern woods… Huh, sounds pathetic, but I do need a glimpse of enthusiasm, mom was right”, she thought. * * * “Indeed, there is probably nothing as pure and genuine as a mountain river”, Lynn strolled along the river, inhaling fresh air with a hint of pine. Watching the impetuous flow of water in the place far enough from urban commotion felt recreational in some way. Crispy fallen leaves whispered under heavy brown Dr. Martens boots, and the eyes longed to hoover up all the scenery around – trees, moss, mountain tops powdered with snow, pebbles scattered here and there on the river banks… Suddenly she saw a shadow passing behind the trees. And again. And a beautiful wolfhound emerged in front of her, her fur glossing and her lively eyes gazing at her. In fact, Lynn was a little bit afraid of dogs as she was bit by one years ago, but this one was calm and virtually won her affection with the look of bright blue eyes speaking of an untold wisdom. The husky moved closer and chafed against the girl’s leg. “Hmm… It seems like you’ve been lost, huh?” – she addressed the dog. “You must be a perfect pet to have. Well, let us try to find your owner.” However, the wolfhound began wagging the tail in an inviting manner and moving forward. The path was rather narrow and obviously hadn’t seen human feet for ages, but Lynn persistently followed her strange guide into the depth of the woods and gradually up the hill. Fragile silence was occasionally broken only by a woodpecker’s knock and her panting. Soon, they reached the top of the hill which was hidden from the human eyes by the strip of woods. As the pale autumn sun emerged among grey clouds, giving its merciful light to the earth, Lynn was stupefied by the image that unfolded before her eyes. A bizarre lighthouse, yet entirely transparent and obviously made of clear glass, overlooked the top of the hill, sparkling in the sunrays, and a flock of birds was circulating around it. White spiral stairs winded inside the lighthouse leading to a small room on the top. Lynn could see only a desk, a typewriter on it and a chiselled chair in the room. Moving closer, she noticed paper pinned and scattered all around. Meanwhile, she couldn’t see the wolfhound anymore. “Oulva, come here, come, girl,” - Lynn heard a soft yet powerful voice, and a dog ran towards the author of that reply. A woman who seemed to be magic in flesh, walked out from the woods on the left from the lighthouse and was moving towards the lighthouse. Her white – white indeed – hair was waving in the wind and glossing in the sun, while her blue serene eyes were hidden under white thick eyelashes. She was all white at all, wearing an odd one-piece costume and a white coat. She trod gracefully, followed by a strange companion – a deer was accompanying her. Most people would say that she wasn’t beautiful in the common sense of this word, but she was so radiant and glaring with charisma that Lynn couldn’t take her eyes off her. Noticing her, the woman startled at first, but her emotions settled in a blink of an eye: “I guess Oulva invited you. Well, she is never mistaken about people she admits here. That’s why I welcome you, Lynn. And I know the reason my pet brought you here,” - and she introduced herself amicably: “My name is Vendela. I suppose, you got plenty of my gifts, huh?” “Gifts? What gifts?” – Lynn was absolutely staggered. “Youre so airy-fairy and beautiful… Who are you?” She got a warm smile instead of the reply. Vendela beckoned and started walking to the lighthouse. Lynn trotted behind her. “You paint, don’t you, Lynn?” “Yes, but rather no than yes. I used to. You see, my father taught me and encouraged me. He passed away two months ago. I haven’t painted anything since that time, I seem to have lost my inspiration and zest for painting…” “Well, you are in the right place”, she smiled again. “The place you’ve found isn’t seen by an ordinary human eyes. Only an artistic nature is admitted in here, as this is the place where ethereal magic is born.” Meanwhile, they reached the top room of the lighthouse. Vendela offered Lynn a chiselled chair, and sat down herself, too. Pieces of paper were here and there, everywhere, with separate phrases or even letters written on them. Amazing grey birds kept on hovering around the room and by the window. The window unnoticed by the girl earlier was framed with symmetrical wooden shelves painted grey with numerous glass jars resting on them. It was the contents of these jars that made Lynn’s eyes glimmer with curiosity and delight. And the woman noticed that. “This silver dust you see is unusual hence it has outstanding properties. Ordinary people might not believe, but you certainly will as you are gifted and broad-minded, and kissed by the destiny (as long as you have reached this place). Go and take one of the jars – I’ll tell you a story”, again that mysterious smile. And she told Lynn the story about the magic dust and the origins of inspiration. Vendela lived there for hundreds of years, completing an important mission - the dust in the jars was inspiration itself (“Not as intangible as it seemed to be, huh?”), and it was to be distributed around the world. “Of course, I’m not the only one. There are many of us”, she took a sprinkle of the dust, opened the window and called one of the birds. As the latter landed on the windowsill, she put the dust into his beak and let him go. The bird tailed away. Lynn couldn’t restrain her curiosity: “What is that for? Will the bird carry inspiration to people?” “Exactly. I send thousands of birds every day. These are expecting their turn”, and she pointed to the flock circulating around the lighthouse. “Birds know me and help me. They are my friends and assistants. Every day, thousands of them fly away, carrying sprinkles of inspiration and drop them on people. Mainly those who are engaged in art and creative work. But everyone gets a piece.” “Amazing… I used to think that it’s about some kind of muse thing. And all these pieces of paper? What are they for?” Vendela approached the typewriter and took a sheet of paper out of it, but Lynn failed to read the text on it. Coming to the window once again, the inspiration woman called another bird and gave the folded paper to it. Then she took another one from the desk and gave it to Lynn: “Read”. The paper was saying: “Don’t be afraid to fall. Sometimes, the fall is flight.” Vendela proceeded: “These are guidings and hints for those who experience difficulties or about to end up in despair. Each of them reaches a certain addressee: no mistake is possible, as it’s vital that my birds find exactly those for whom the guidings are intended.” Then she closed the window, buttoned her coat and asked: “Do you have a dream?” “Of course”, Lynn replied. “Well… Initially, I used to dream of becoming as good at painting as dad was. I dream of painting souls, reaching the very heart, the depth eyes are unable to see”, she gazed straight in Vendela’s bright eyes. “I dream of creating paintings that would stagger, evoke memories and emotions, pictures that would touch hearts.” Vendela took her by the hand, and they walked out. Meanwhile, time elapsed, and it was already dark, and the stars sparkled above like small gemstones do in the sunlight. They reached the top of another hill, and there Aurora Borealis took its beginning. The glaring light canvas of changing colors touched the slope of the hill. Aurora Borealis quivered with green and turquoise and magenta, and its light reflected in the eyes of both travelers. “It is magic, pure magic”, Lynn stared motionless at the shining. “You’re right. This is where inspiration dust comes from. We collect it here. This is the very heart.” Suddenly the same graceful deer emerged by Vendela’s side, and she mounted him. “Step onto the shining. Don’t be afraid. And catch your inspiration”, the woman smiled warmly and encouraged. Engulfed by a strange mixture of bewilderment and wonder, Lynn did. And she started falling in the glaring flow of colors, surrounded by Norwegian mountains and endless starry skies. * * * “Miss, wake up, wake up! Do you hear me? It’s the route terminal”, she heard the driver’s low voice half-asleep. Lighting down from the bus, Lynn sensed engrossing disappointment that acquired even more distinct contours as thorny autumnal wind poured her over with cold. She decided to peep into a small café at the bus stop for a coffee to wash off sticky feeling of disappointment: could it all be a mere dream? And suddenly, a grey bird softly came down onto the girl’s shoulder, keeping a folded paper in its beak. Lynn unfolded the message: “Hold fast to your dreams, as they are like wings for a bird – one cannot fly without them.” Read More