|Photo by dream_maze via flickr|
Late at night, after everyone has gone to sleep, when the worries from my head seep out and run far, far away, when the ocean crashes in the distance and the bugs hum a sleepy tune, late at night when mySelf is a blank and malleable place, when the air is heavy with intrigue, when my senses pulse with inner magnets, yes then, that is when the magic magic happens. Tonight, I breathed in a scent. His scent. A scent I hadn’t thought of in many, many moons. He came to me on a wisp of an ocean breeze, carried with intention. His or mine, I do not know. But intention, nonetheless. So I got up. Out of my cozy incubating nest to send him an email. His scent told me he needed love. He was struggling and needed love.
Everyone has a scent. Not the scent of soap or deodorant or perfume or cologne. Not even laundry detergent or the metallic spices that emerge after exercise. Those are notes, maybe, but not the entire chord. The scent I’m talking about is one’s essence, something you can sense most clearly when you are a short distance away, close enough to see with your eyes and far enough to breathe in with first, just your imagination.
Many times when I breathe in a person, my nose senses desserts—maybe a butter cream icing with a funny flavoring, or a dark chocolate mousse saturated in some sort of liquor. Other times, it finds pictures of herbs or flowers, or places...a library, a brand new Best Buy, an ancient fern-laden forest. And still, I breathe in scents that I cannot yet decipher. Not until I am once again home in my cozy nest of a bed, when that person comes to me on the back of a humid nighttime breeze do I realize what their scent really is, its essence as obvious as my own daughter’s who sleeps right beside me.
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My Wednesday Wish for You?
To return to scented imagination. You know, the nose is one of imagination’s best friends. Not the imagination that raises eyebrows and create smirks. But the imagination that creates dreams and resurrects forgotten ideas into pulsing realities, a gift we all have and at some point learned to relegate to the farthest corners of our ‘pointless’ closets. So here’s your summon. Dust it off, your forgotten imagination. Give it back some of its paint peeling medals. Those you were born with, the ones you earned on the playground in kindergarten when you made the prettiest apple pie out of sand. And when you are ready, give that imagination baton to your trusty nose, that friend that just wants to be believed in to show you things that most people never ever dream of their entire lives, a world within a world that’s only a smidgen step away. And why? To see, to care, to share another’s journey as you secretly wished someone else might one day share your own. The scent of Clarice tells you that she is living under an oppressive shadow in her life. Not a person, but a perspective. Steve’s citrus tang tells you first, that his view his life has begun to sour and later, that he longs for a sweeter way to be. Listen to the scents. Read them like a wizard deciphers dreams. Interpret and watch as the barriers between you and others thin to the finest of ancient parchment. See. Care. Live a life of scented imagination. For imagination doesn't just embrace the entire world, it creates it.