I have never been sure anyone else ever has stuff like this happen to them. Surely, it does. Statistically speaking, the chances have to be pretty good. Maybe. Today, while I was trying to figure out a data pull, a thought popped into my mind that had nothing to do with what I was doing.

Poets are made of air and fire.

I am not at all sure why it came to mind, but it did. And it was strong enough that I wrote it down on my scratch paper where I was configuring my data query. And its been echoing in my head ever since that moment at work.

Poets are made of air and fire.

From that statement, I am drawn into evocative imagery in descriptive form.

The wind wipes away the hair hanging in my face, as the gale force winds of the storm sweep around me. Razor-sharp raindrops slash against my exposed face, stinging me with venom of cologne applied immediately after a close shave. I hold a hand over my eyes for protection, as I peer into the darkness of the forest. An army of trees is vaguely outlined in the darkness, occasionally exposed by the illumination of lightning bolts racing across the sky like crazed blasts from a battle of spellcasters. This is where they will try and come through. This is where I must wait and watch; coiled to raise the alarm if the worst is to come true.

This happens to me from time to time. I get little snippets like this, and I write them down. What each means – I’m never sure. But I have nearly two journals full of tuff like this.

A fanciful imagination? Perhaps. The internal raging fire of creativity? Maybe. Prophetic images of the future? I fucking hope not. See, most of the imagery I get from stuff like this is not the nicest stuff in the world. If it were prophetic in nature, I can only hope it is symbolic in nature rather than realistic. Because it comes from a world where things are not exactly the safest in the world. A lot of it is apocalyptic within its theme.

Dreams are something I pay very close attention to. But that’s different than these images. Well, different in the fact that I am awake when it happens. But this one today…this one was strong. Particularly the part about poets being made of air and fire. So, now I start to go down the road of exploring the concepts of air and fire and how each relate to poets and poetry.

Maybe I’m going mad. Maybe not. And I am not totally sure where this particular trod is going to take me. But I am going to need to follow it. Even if its only to insure I’m not falling out of my tree.