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I stood upon a cliff
in the heart of a western desert, my body separated from certain death by virtually nothing but a makeshift rock wall. My heart palpitating, I would breathe deeply; my soul enraptured with indescribable fervor. I could not fathom how a sight as beautiful as the one that lay before me could exist; I had known nothing of such a place until that glorious moment, and I found myself seeing the invaluable creations of the earth in a new, spectacular radiance. I felt so small beneath that crystalline sky, next to such an immaculate tapestry of light and shape that was so intricately woven into a vision more impossible than a dream. I would breathe again, madly in love with such imagery, and atop the towering, lethal, precipice in which I stood, I was at peace. However, my fascination would not end with the light of the day; as night fell, I found myself at rest, without shelter, beneath the endless stars. I lay captivated beneath the black abyss, as countless celestial bodies cast their ancient light into the dark of my retinas.
It is events such as these that have inspired me in my life; these places, these visions, these spectacles. I carry them with me, and as they are recalled, I re-visit them. My writing, my philosophy, and my life orbit around these experiences; my love for the objects of my inspiration are greater than that of any other. Even those places that cannot be physically reached - the places that only exist within the mystical worlds of dreams and writing - are places that inspire me, shape me, and move me. Verily, it is not only the places that I have traveled that fuel my inspiration, but also, the people I meet there.
They are the arms of the embrace;
the walls of the home. They protect me, enlighten me, and encourage me. Their bravery, hardship, and compassion motivate me, sending my imagination and creativity to places that I never thought they could reach. Their opinions reconfigure my mind; they open locked doorways that I would have never even seen without their guide and aid. Without their care, I would know nothing of compassion; there would be no soul for me to personify or expand upon. Without my companions, I would be lost and hollow, for it is those that help me as I stumble that inspire me to do the same for others. Those who dare to be themselves, who rise above the influence of the merciless bear-trap of society, inspire me beyond all.
As I travel to these places and embrace these people, I still find myself surrounded by inspiration that cannot be seen. In the world of sound, there lies a beauty and a wonder that is quite distant from the world of images; sound overcomes the body and inflicts its listener with emotion that is relinquished of all logic. Its beauty is confusing, its sadness a mystery – yet there is a part of me that understands it; there is a fragment of my soul that cannot do without it. I listen to the notes and the chords, the bass lines and rhythms, and suddenly, everything will make sense. Three notes with mean “happiness,” ten others mean “frustration,” and, despite this enigma, I ask no questions. Instead, these vibrations and rhythms enlighten me. I am awakened by the oddity of music, and am inspired to do more with what they communicate to me. These melodies spell out the meaning of life; these drum beats whisper the secrets to death. I listen with more than my ears; my soul listens too, and within these chords I see a novel; I see philosophy; I see a masterpiece.
Ultimately, it is difficult for me to understand how one could not find inspiration in almost everything. Whether one is standing at the edge of a precipice in the middle of Utah, or looking upon a blind beggar on the streets, one can extract philosophy, art and writing out anything. With so much to love, and so much to ponder, life is, without question, an inspiration in itself.
