Sunday, July 15, 2012
A conversation with the past
Here's a tip to twelve year olds. A cool project to make your own time capsule. Sometime this year, sit down and do what Jeremiah McDonald did 20 years ago. Take a few minutes and record one half of a conversation with your older self. Save it, but don't look at it again, or better yet, give it to a family member to keep for you. Very important DO NOT WATCH UNTIL TWENTY YEARS LATER.. (no cheating)
Saturday, July 14, 2012
I had a dream in which...
.... I found myself in a Victorian study, with dark wooden panelling and book shelves with leather bound volumes and two men were discussing my skull and it was 200 years after I died...
This one had been at least fifteen years ago, and technically speaking, it was a hypnogogic vision - you know, one of those very vivid dreams that occur before you are fully asleep.
When I was much younger I had a series of 'Alien invasion' type dreams, in which I'd find myself threatened by this little aliens ('Grays'), but the real freaky thing about those were, I knew, inside the dream that it was a dream and always managed to escape by willfully waking myself up out of it. Then, a fresh twist came. One night, I dreamt I was practicing to fly. That must have been hands down the most enjoyable dream I've ever had. Swooping and diving and whirling through the air without a single thing to hold me back. The thing is, some time after the flying dream, I had another of the 'Alien invasion' type dreams, but instead of waking myself up, I reasoned, wait, you know how to fly now, you can just fly away. And I did.
A Chinese poet called Zhuang Zi wrote, "Once upon a time, I, Chuang Chou, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Chou. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. "
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Zhuangzi
So, what DO we know about our dreams and about our waking... ?
This morning, first thing, my inner muse said... try this, tell something from your life, something that makes you feel sad and worthless, as if it was a only a dream from which you've woken up, so I did... and some things hurt a little less when you do this, and some things even make you smile...
I had a dream in which.... I lived in a place I hated and all I wanted was to leave and never never come back, but the more I wanted it, the more things went wrong and I could never come close to getting the money for a plane ticket... you know those dreams where you are in a supermarket and you know you don't have any money, but you can't leave and you can't stop piling things into your trolley.... well, it was exactly the same, except on a larger scale... (a snapshot from my twenties)
I had a dream in which... I had a million notebooks full of stories, and I was always telling myself start one, start one.... but whenever I tried to grasp one, it would shatter into a million pieces, that just became new story ideas....
The dreams themselves can explore fears, repressed emotions or even alternate perceptions...
I had a dream in which.... God gave me this cool body change, but then my Mommy didn't know me anymore...
I had a dream in which... I created this brilliant music, but when I woke I could remember only tiny bits of it... just receding snatches, nothing I was able to write down...
I had a dream in which... someone came to me and woke me up...
This one had been at least fifteen years ago, and technically speaking, it was a hypnogogic vision - you know, one of those very vivid dreams that occur before you are fully asleep.
When I was much younger I had a series of 'Alien invasion' type dreams, in which I'd find myself threatened by this little aliens ('Grays'), but the real freaky thing about those were, I knew, inside the dream that it was a dream and always managed to escape by willfully waking myself up out of it. Then, a fresh twist came. One night, I dreamt I was practicing to fly. That must have been hands down the most enjoyable dream I've ever had. Swooping and diving and whirling through the air without a single thing to hold me back. The thing is, some time after the flying dream, I had another of the 'Alien invasion' type dreams, but instead of waking myself up, I reasoned, wait, you know how to fly now, you can just fly away. And I did.
A Chinese poet called Zhuang Zi wrote, "Once upon a time, I, Chuang Chou, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Chou. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. "
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Zhuangzi
So, what DO we know about our dreams and about our waking... ?
This morning, first thing, my inner muse said... try this, tell something from your life, something that makes you feel sad and worthless, as if it was a only a dream from which you've woken up, so I did... and some things hurt a little less when you do this, and some things even make you smile...
I had a dream in which.... I lived in a place I hated and all I wanted was to leave and never never come back, but the more I wanted it, the more things went wrong and I could never come close to getting the money for a plane ticket... you know those dreams where you are in a supermarket and you know you don't have any money, but you can't leave and you can't stop piling things into your trolley.... well, it was exactly the same, except on a larger scale... (a snapshot from my twenties)
I had a dream in which... I had a million notebooks full of stories, and I was always telling myself start one, start one.... but whenever I tried to grasp one, it would shatter into a million pieces, that just became new story ideas....
The dreams themselves can explore fears, repressed emotions or even alternate perceptions...
I had a dream in which.... God gave me this cool body change, but then my Mommy didn't know me anymore...
I had a dream in which... I created this brilliant music, but when I woke I could remember only tiny bits of it... just receding snatches, nothing I was able to write down...
I had a dream in which... someone came to me and woke me up...
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
The Mirror and its Reflection
Within every happy reunion lies another's tears of farewell, and sometimes it is impossible to avoid becoming the villains in other people's stories. Recently my inner voice said to me about someone... he is both your friend and your enemy. Everybody is both your friend and your enemy. You choose what you shape them into...
Every word and every action has a 'good' path and a 'bad' path, (for want of a better term)... if it is spoken, if it is done, it is out there in the world and you often have no control over its outcome, only the assurance that this chaotic multiverse has some purpose for it...
The birth of a flower marks the death of a seed... but how do I feel, when I look at those who see only the seed and weep over its cracked, broken exterior? Do I owe anything to the hungry ghosts of yesterday.... do I owe them my guilt for being able to smell the sweet scent of the flower that came after the seed died? Or should I just keep walking forward, cherishing that 'flower' forever in all of my tomorrows and beyond time...? I would love someone to say, it's okay... we're happy, if the flower is happy...
But... yeah, survivor's guilt... such a terrible, terrible thing...
... and there is the temptation to villainize the ones who weep out of an attempt to still my guilt for contributing towards their tears... (even though I never knew where my eternal flower came from, until afterwards, when it was too late) but to see the monstrous in another, is to wake up the monstrous in yourself...
(I understand and accept ~ mothers need fairy tales as much as their children do...)
"She (Death)said everyone knows everything. We just pretend to ourselves we don't... To make it bearable."
- Destruction, from 'Brief Lives', in the Sandman series by Neil Gaiman.
Every word and every action has a 'good' path and a 'bad' path, (for want of a better term)... if it is spoken, if it is done, it is out there in the world and you often have no control over its outcome, only the assurance that this chaotic multiverse has some purpose for it...
The birth of a flower marks the death of a seed... but how do I feel, when I look at those who see only the seed and weep over its cracked, broken exterior? Do I owe anything to the hungry ghosts of yesterday.... do I owe them my guilt for being able to smell the sweet scent of the flower that came after the seed died? Or should I just keep walking forward, cherishing that 'flower' forever in all of my tomorrows and beyond time...? I would love someone to say, it's okay... we're happy, if the flower is happy...
But... yeah, survivor's guilt... such a terrible, terrible thing...
... and there is the temptation to villainize the ones who weep out of an attempt to still my guilt for contributing towards their tears... (even though I never knew where my eternal flower came from, until afterwards, when it was too late) but to see the monstrous in another, is to wake up the monstrous in yourself...
(I understand and accept ~ mothers need fairy tales as much as their children do...)
"She (Death)said everyone knows everything. We just pretend to ourselves we don't... To make it bearable."
- Destruction, from 'Brief Lives', in the Sandman series by Neil Gaiman.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
A Thousand lies...
I asked a wise man this: "Will I be able to swallow a thousand lies if I hold the truth in my own heart?"
He replied, "Not only will you be able to do it, but it is what you must do..."
So this is my fare. A thousand lies. Some of them are nasty little buggers who tear chunks out of the softer flesh of my gullet with their teeth. Others taste like nothing. There are a few rare ones that delight me like candy and make me smile at their aftertaste. But most of them are bitter and a bitch to digest.
"Now what?" I asked the wise man.
"Do you still hear the song of truth singing in your soul?" he asked.
I listened closely until I did.
"Good," he said. "Now you must wait for the lies to turn to poop in your gut."
(t.y.m.)
He replied, "Not only will you be able to do it, but it is what you must do..."
So this is my fare. A thousand lies. Some of them are nasty little buggers who tear chunks out of the softer flesh of my gullet with their teeth. Others taste like nothing. There are a few rare ones that delight me like candy and make me smile at their aftertaste. But most of them are bitter and a bitch to digest.
"Now what?" I asked the wise man.
"Do you still hear the song of truth singing in your soul?" he asked.
I listened closely until I did.
"Good," he said. "Now you must wait for the lies to turn to poop in your gut."
(t.y.m.)
Monday, July 9, 2012
Everybody falls...
I dedicate this song to a certain stupid stupid stupid little girl who tried to jump but ended up falling flat on her face instead... with all the shame and humiliation that results from such a fall and that stupid girl was me... and the fall was three weeks ago... What I'm feeling right now is the ground zero of that emotional devastation, and writing this is an attempt to take just one first step away from it...
I'm hoping that I haven't lost my courage forever, but only for a little while...
I'm hoping that I will have enough mercy and forgiveness left in my heart for everyone who comes to me with honest intentions and maybe that I will have just enough of the same to avoid being cut by some of the wounds that will inevitably come from those who don't have those honest intentions....
I thank the universe for added wisdom and I will pay its price...
Honesty hurts, but it's a bearable kind of pain that leaves the door open for help and healing and love and redemption to find you again...
Everybody falls, but hopefully everybody heals...
(t.y.m. - yes, my friend, i DID survive writing this)
I'm hoping that I haven't lost my courage forever, but only for a little while...
I'm hoping that I will have enough mercy and forgiveness left in my heart for everyone who comes to me with honest intentions and maybe that I will have just enough of the same to avoid being cut by some of the wounds that will inevitably come from those who don't have those honest intentions....
I thank the universe for added wisdom and I will pay its price...
Honesty hurts, but it's a bearable kind of pain that leaves the door open for help and healing and love and redemption to find you again...
Everybody falls, but hopefully everybody heals...
(t.y.m. - yes, my friend, i DID survive writing this)
Saturday, July 7, 2012
No one...
No one ever noticed
when the world turned cold
that every walking vagabond
wears teeth in his coat...
No one paid attention
to the missing parts
the hollow empty chambers
that used to house their hearts...
No one ever turned around and said
stop this train
I see a world come crashing down
and I'm flinching from the pain...
(t.y.m. - this one came to me as i was walking from Baran's where we had our Adamastor Writers Guild meeting to the bus station.... i wrote the last parts while waiting in the bus queue.. and looking down, I saw a R2 coin on the ground, which was roughly one third of my bus fare)
when the world turned cold
that every walking vagabond
wears teeth in his coat...
No one paid attention
to the missing parts
the hollow empty chambers
that used to house their hearts...
No one ever turned around and said
stop this train
I see a world come crashing down
and I'm flinching from the pain...
(t.y.m. - this one came to me as i was walking from Baran's where we had our Adamastor Writers Guild meeting to the bus station.... i wrote the last parts while waiting in the bus queue.. and looking down, I saw a R2 coin on the ground, which was roughly one third of my bus fare)
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