A Note From the Sleep Temple



House sitting for the next three days, for my ex, I find myself in the midst of my old habitat. What is left of me here is what is left of me anywhere. That’s an easy one. But it does dig up lots of what ifs. What ifs can be like sandpaper or silk, like massage or cat bites, mine are like plugged up visions. Leave it to me to hover in a hard place. Goof gloriously is what I say. With optimism as a lodestone i trudge on blindly, with Apollo as my guide. Good company, that. Here surrounded by sagebrush, morning greeter a jack rabbit, life looks like a drifty kind of thing, adrift on a fragrant yet pale breeze. That’s me.

For the first time in over five months I have been watching television. The screen is a luscious 47″ HiDef panel. The programming still sucks but there are numerous programs of interest. The thing that irks me is that informative shows have an “industry standard” sort of feel to them. Is this an artifact from higher education? Or is there just one guy in a room somewhere, cranking out shows for every channel?

The visionary in me is kind of in a hermit’s repose. Picture an Ancient Greek sleep temple, an Asclepieion, wherein healing is the mode du jour.. Neither pride nor ambition is involved. That a simple need has arisen is reason enough. I will take it and run, slowly at first. Ever so slowly. I wouldn’t want to outrun fear, for integration of fear’s more proactive qualities is essential to and for growth. If fear is left behind it will slip into the future and meet you there, morphed into bigger and more tenacious thing. Don’t go there. Just don’t, k?

Peace out, y’all.



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