Lava Lamps Rule
by Blue Montgomery

I was once on a sofa so comfortable it had to be made of marshmallows. This sofa was at least three to five times more soft and contoured than any I had ever been fortunate enough to lie on before. Was it the elegant lines and soft leather that flowed from the French designer's mind? Or was it the meticulous stitching and craftsmanship from one of Mexico' specialized furniture workshops? I wasn't sure what exactly made this damn couch so comfy, or for that matter why I felt so out of this world, so out of touch with everything except the immediately tangible, but at that moment I was so mesmerized by my senses it could have been anything.

Someone put a lot of time into creating this lava lamp graphic. But alas, we don't know who did it! Sorry.

I surely enough, however, not suddenly by any stretch of the term, came to a realization that it wasn't the couch at all, nor the conveniently painted baby blue walls. I started to think of chance and coincidence, and how crazy it was that I was in a room, with fuschia velvet curtains, smooth and soothing to the touch. Carpet of three inch shag so soft it had to be made of cotton because my toes sank until they seemed to disappear. But it wasn't any of these things. It was right there in front of me, illuminous and a little mysterious. A caliber of beauty I haven't seen much of when it comes to man made objects. It was more than a sight it was an experience. Magical, yet hypnotic, it was a little piece of heaven, or hell in a bottle. It's what we all know and love as The Lava Lamp.

I remember one time I was in the city of letters casually making my way down the Strata Sad Donato. It wasn't the first time I had been to Italy, but it was my debut in Bologna. A place where the 13th century can still be felt through the cities twelve gates, merging thoroughfares, and especially the towers. I was at the top of what had become the cities icon, its sole leaning tower. The Torre Degli Asenelli was a definite landmark, and among the fame and recognition it has been responsible for attracting travelers to the area for centuries.

I made my way around the tower from viewpoint to viewpoint, as if seeing the city from eight different eyes; each with their own interpretation and feeling the spring air. When I had made almost a complete revolution I noticed a young woman dressed in black. She stood with a certain way about her. Elegant, confident, and very pretty. I remember her mystic ways rang loud in my head.

I have read books before on Lucid dreaming, and was very much aware of possibilities regarding conscious sensations in unconscious states of mind. But I was not asleep. I was under some sort of hypnosis, my mind wandering aimlessly like an exploring ferret with no memory. My mind was the puppet being thrown around by the lamp. Flowing, ever slowly, the purple would ascend and descend. The big purple gliding through the sea of clear just long enough to collide with the top of the lamp and be thrust downward separating. A definite interaction between the purple and the clear, but never complete integration. The Lava Lamp continuously molding into something new, and progressive, with style, and grace, as if always looking to the future, but never being unhappy with the present.

This lamp was the remedy to unlocking vaults in which the keys had been lost. Brain cells that haven't been killed, just stashed in a place where I was denied access. Long term, short term, and repressed memory. My mind raced from African safaris to the fact that my car was overdue for an oil change.

During the pinnacle of this mayhem my thoughts went back to the girl in the tower. At first she was shy and quiet, but I came to realize she just chose her words carefully. I vividly remember a story she told me there. It was about how her childhood dreams had developed into goals as she grew older. At the time she had just started reaching these goals, and she shared with me how the satisfaction and rewards of her determination, and hard work overcame even her wildest expectations.

I thought of my own dreams and goals. I thought of the friends I've made along the way. The 747 rides across the Pacific. The sunshine, the brisk air, the powder days at Brighton, building jumps, riding halfpipes, going fast, making turns. Just sitting in the trees listening to nature, watching it snow. The smell, the feel snowboarding. I looked deep into the lava lamp one more time, thought of my friends again, the industry, and hoped together we would continuously mold into something new and progressive, with style and grace, as if looking toward the future, but never being unhappy with the present.