Gazing, gazing at the sea of green grass, each blade growing in an unknowable symmetry. She had to assume it based on what she had learned in her 44 years. In another time, in another wish, she had been somewhere else, which was something (she assumed). What she carried with her here, now, she attempted to dismantle & present in part because she knew it was her purpose, a purpose, and partly because she had a continuos hope to be useful. She swirled her spoon in her coffee, lifted it to her lips and took a big gulp. Made her smile every time. Made some mental notes, then some physical ones, then closed her eyes to open herself & dream. Ok, to see first. The globe. The creatures on it, and men & women. Negative things happening currently, yes. Well then. She imagined the hughes of those scenarios dimming, the lights of each soul involved growing brighter, exposing the illusion, negativities breaking apart and falling around each shining new body, new person, new destiny. She thought about her favorite Jenny Holzer, form of: tshirt- "IN A DREAM YOU SAW A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FILLED WITH JOY". Yes, this was the only way to survive wasn't it? World peace, every soul, everyone? She blinked inside, then her eyes blinked open. Cat eyes blinked back expecting breakfast, or something else interesting. "After enlightenment, chop wood & carry water". Or feed pets, as the case may be. Intention set, unexpected arrival of joy a much appreciated happy accident, and now there was physicality to attend to. Maybe just one poem, though, before the usual fight.. Roll a four Feet on the floor What could be coming Will never abhor A moment of kindness (It's a moment not wasted) Love's machinations Multiply tasted Whence comes the challenge Whence comes the grief Often annoying But never a thief Remember my darling In all of these callings The rivers are flowing Your life is a crowning The glories you know of The glories you don't Leave it to angels Let the goat go
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Dreaming. One can dream in surrender, or dream it up, dream it into. I had a dream recently, one that started via surrender in the usual manner after falling asleep. It was an anxiety dream, very pedestrian or so it seemed. I was driving, trying to find a common store on a main road that I wasn't familiar with- as if I was in another town. According to previous research, it was supposed to pop up any time along the strip where I was headed, but I wasn't exactly sure how far. I would get anxious, talk myself down, repeat. Then a voice (in the dream it was my own brain) said "you're not driving, look." And I did look. There was no road exactly, no steering wheel, & everything was presented as flat bands of color, as in a comic book. Well. All right then. Which means.. Which means I do not need to follow car driving rules. I can focus, & go there. Somewhere in that process, I realized that I was dreaming & roused myself, the reminder remaining. If you focus, you can just go there. Extraneous negative thoughts or unhelpful energies whatever form they take can be strained away from the task at hand, large or small, with commitment and focus on what is truly wanted out of any given situation. So, We Can Do It, yes, like the t-shirt says. And here's the next line, the other shoe- you must do it. Content of distractions is not meaningless, but Direction must be chosen in the ever-new responsibility of Dreaming/Into. Happy Cleaning. Dreadful Honicutt had stepped onto the stage, not quite having decided what to sing from his repertoire yet, really not having decided anything at all. His feet had moved the rest of him though, were moving him, and there he was. He'd liked the look of a girl up front, one of the front tables, but he'd been warned away from her quite wordlessly, so. There was that. Honicutt's mom had in fact named him after the character on MASH though she'd spelled it differently. He loved his odd name. He began using Dreadful by way of a joke, due to his penchant for both Edgar Allen Poe and some of the more elegant Goth Wear. It had stuck for some reason, the regulars of the place populated densely with friends who knew him well. No one thought anything of it anymore as he was introduced. If he was introduced. Normally (as was the result of his current position), some sort of spirit slid his body stealthily to the microphone, incited by no human, least of all Honicutt. The musicians synced with their chosen instruments directed by nucleic presence, unthinking, majestic. Sound techs and waitresses buzzed about like mitochondria. Those seated at tables quieted and looked up, organelles awaiting input. As the cell took shape, Honicutt lowered his chin, raised his eyes, and began to sing. |
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