The dream machine, part 1 ...
When you see the words "dream machine," what image pops into your head? Maybe you think of the London space rock band with that name. Or perhaps a psychedelic poster from the '60s and '70s. Or maybe even the stroboscopic flicker device from the Sixties that one stares at with eyes closed.
Not me. I hear "dream machine" and I see orange. I hear the sweet loud sounds of an industrial blender at work. In a few moments my name will be called and I will walk to the counter to collect my power size, one's-a-meal "Orange Dream Machine" smoothie.
I'm not the only one addicted to these Jamba Juice concoctions of orange juice, frozen yogurt, soymilk, orange sherbet, and ice. Some, like Dan Holm, have admitted their love affair with the dream machine in an amusing tell-all blog.
Lately I've been a bit unfaithful, I confess, since I discovered the wonders of the "Mango-a-go-go" smoothie. But the Orange Dream Machine will always be my first love.
Romance aside, this morning I began exploring the idea of the creative mind as a dream machine. Imagine the mind of a fiction writer or poet as a blender that waits to receive ingredients, especially sensory images that will be the key ingredients in the next story or poem. We push the button and the mind becomes busy, and noisy, blending the ingredients into something designed to delight and nourish, feeding first the writer and later the readers.
I see this dream machine as the rational mind, methodical and efficient, loud and self-important and in control. The rational mind, of course, has no lack of self-confidence. It judges itself to be all that the writer needs. "Just feed me the ingredients," the mind says, "and I will take care of everything."
But what about emotions? The rational mind scoffs at this question. "Emotions?" it says. "Who needs them? They only get in the way of the creative process. Keep your feelings to yourself!"
"But what about love?" you ask. "Where would literature be without great love stories and love poems?"
Now you've done it! Now you've really upset the rational mind. "That's just more emotions out of control!" it yells, then tries to calm itself and explain, as to a child. "Love is dangerous. Love always gets us into trouble. Do you understand? Love is too powerful to let loose. We must keep it stopped up, keep it contained. That's why ages ago the rational minds banished love to the region of the heart, where it lives today, wild and crazy and irrational as ever."
The irrational mind whispers now, "Trust me. I know what's good for you. Just feed me the images and I will give you poems and stories. Trust me. I'm the only dream machine you need."
And yet... and yet ...
When I hold a power size Orange Dream Machine smoothie in my hand on a warm day (or cold day), when my eyes take it in its blended orangeness, when I close my lips on the jumbo size straw and suck in the first taste of the addictive dream, then the rational mind has to retreat to its prison kingdom in my head. The senses take over. The heart takes over.
The rational mind is correct, of course. Love is dangerous. Love does get us into trouble. Love is wild and crazy and irrational. But isn't that why we are drawn to it? Just as surely as I am drawn to the Orange Dream Machine. At this moment the sweet concoction calls to me. It calls to my senses and to my heart. It knows where I am weak and vulnerable.
Tags: creative process, Dan Holm, love, Smoothies
