when my body is really hurting
and ….i’m aching
whilst life just
beats me down
I can still count on
the thought of you
to lift me up
God, you’re like
some kind of
sustainable chaotic whirlwind
always making me float
when you have a dream
that makes you feel
don’t stop it.
it is moving you.
it is teaching you.
it really…..is you?
take it in, embody it,
it might just be that it
is a part of you
a part that you’d
and nobody likes to be forgotten
so let it in.
let it take you somewhere
let it take you back
back to you.
cause dreams do that.
they call us home.
sometimes when I think of you, im so happy and it makes me float.
sometimes when I think of you, it makes me sad that you have to be gone.
sometimes it makes me laugh because I still can’t even take it …
and sometimes I cry, ….well…..
because because because because becauuuuuuse.
don’t even ask because why
so i pack up the tent in the morning,
kinda of grudgingly cause i’m depressed as hell,
and i head back to the house.
i have a bottle of malbec and decide to have a glass with lunch.
then i pass out.
in my dream, you return.
we talk on the phone about sleeping bags
and i dare to tell you that i missed you.
you say, “yea, i get it.”
and i tell you that i think i still have your flashlight.
you agree that you will come by to get it.
i insist you should just stay the night since it’s a few hours drive.
you hesitate, but then agree once I tell you that I’ll make breakfast sausage with coffee cakes in the morning.
i get so ecstatic and hang up the phone.
i should realize it’s a dream at this point because it’s an old fashioned landline phone.
but instead, i start readying my house.
and as i’m looking in the mirror,
i wake up and realize that it was just another dream.
after checking out several modern operas,
i’m astounded at the electronic staging.
it’s so wild.
and it makes me so happy that people are still writing operas.
i mean, really.
it makes me proud of humanity that art still
and still has
a distinct audience.
why do operas make me think so damn much.
so provoking and evocative.
clever detective work.
art wins again.
now feeling slightly gentrified
by this generational,though far from general, genre
i genuinely consider
writing my own someday.
you know, in my gentle, generative years.
traditional psychology tells you that at mid life your *dreams* shatter.
Funny, but i find that i am having new dreams.
Dreams that are lucid, attainable, palpable, even.
Leading this vanguard,
I have my dragon by the reigns;
I didn’t have to crush her, I only had to control her.
and I’m the one breathing fire now.
I’ve found oneness, stillness,
and a vision of healing love.
Empowered by this vision quest,
I find myself renewed.
It’s funny that somethings have to die in order that we may live.
Sitting under the Bodhi tree, visiting the Oak of Tabor, considering the Terebinth and Oaks of Moreh…. I think of Christ, I think of the the Phoenix, and I think of the Lotus flower.
Feeling Grateful, I whisper Hallelujah, Namaste, Hare Hare, and AMEN.