“I move from dreamer to dreamer, from dream to dream, hunting for what I need. Slipping and sliding and flickering through the dreams; and the dreamer will wake, and wonder why this dream seemed different, wonder how real their lives can truly be.” ~ Neil Gaiman
“You must let what happens happen. Everything must be equal in your eyes, good and evil, beautiful and ugly, foolish and wise.” ~ Michael Ende, The Neverending Story
Morning has been punctuated with yawns. So far. The feeling is strong enough to make me consider a second pot of coffee, but not quite strong enough to lead me to do so. It is at this point impossible to tell if this yawn-laced mellowness is lethargy or wisdom. A firm Protestant work ethics would likely call it lethargy, perhaps a weakness of will. No worries, I tell myself, I always step successfully into my given role out in the marketplace. It’s not so hard to jump in like that. Years of practice? Or maybe it is really not all that complicated. You dance, that’s all. Just dance. But that comes later. Right now the sky is hanging low, sporting a ceiling of clouds that has the world muffled. There is no traffic on the highway, none at all. Other than a faint skunk chirp a few minutes ago the only significant sound was a sudden rousing chorus from a small group of coyotes, back around 4 AM. When I heard it, that manic sound of celebration from some obligate predators, I wondered only briefly at how terrifying it must be for a rabbit to be caught in the middle of such a crew. The thought was too unsettling so I let it go. Nature has drama. Only humans try to avoid it. The world is settled firmly upon a foundation built of stories. Some of them are going to be unpleasant. Rabbits have it tough. Or maybe it is all a dream. But that notion doesn’t quite do it for me. As a writer I readily admit that dreams are a vast resource for imagination. No, I don’t think dreams and imagination are the same thing. And don’t even get me started on the true nature of illusion. My thoughts are all over the field as I reflect upon the things I am writing about this morning, but I know the crux of my soft focus here, so I might as well share. It’s about creativity. Meeting the details of life in a mindful way, with attention, insight, and intuition. A Cartesian mechanistic worldview doesn’t allow such an approach. My reason for coming at it this way arises from some basic needs I find in endeavoring to wrangle PTSD into a reasonable ally, rather than some insidious deformity of character. I’m a fraidy cat, but the friction created by the compulsive fears serves a purpose, or at least it can. Sigh. I suppose I could put in the effort and go get myself a medical marijuana prescription. There is no doubt that I qualify. But for now it is time to get on to the workday. The goal, even if loosely stated, is to address life in a creative manner, today and from here on out. It’s a workday, not just something I have to endure so that I can put it behind me while putting some money in the bank for my efforts. It’s the dance, silly. Today it is all about the dance. It’s been like that for me at work lately. I find moments when I am nearly transfixed in a state of wonder. Life is really amazing. And hear me now, my friends, and hear what I say: something wondrous is happening. That’s what my mom used to say during the endgame of her life. I think she found it a whole lot easier to be honest about her perceptions by that time. The potential for such honestly, just the knowledge that it exists, is a valued treasure in finding a use for this PTSD I have to wrassle with most all the time. Dance, wrassle, whatever, right?
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.