Calling a spade a change of pace.
The night before I got on a bus to New Mexico, I had sleep paralysis and hallucinations because I was so overtired. I had crazy vivid lucid dreams. I had prophetic dreams. I dreamt the image of spiny, jagged, blocky-looking mountains out of the window of a bus in the cold gray dimness just before dawn.
On the bus the next morning, wishing I had coffee but too thrilled with the excitement of the journey to care much that I didn't, I stared in rapture out the greasy window and listened to The Fountain soundtrack. (That soundtrack will FOREVER be associated with that trip. That day. That adventure.) As I sat upright in my bus seat staring in anticipation, waiting for the sun to come up and shed light on the bumps and humps to the east and the west, I started to see it. The spine. One long spine. Spiky mountains. Blocky looking, at times. Jagged. Sloping up and down as the bus rolled by. EXACTLY as I had dreamt them. In my dream I had thought the shapes were rocks themselves, peaks themselves, but in real life, though they looked the same as I had dreamt them, the shapes were actually TREES. Which is perfect, given my dendrolatry.
I don't know where I will end up, but that trip gave me a taste I liked, and so I must reconcile the dreams or live a little of all of them until I find the RIGHT dream to give my ALL to.
Or just do them in the right order and end up, in the end, in the tiny house, with the counseling degree, writing my heart out, healing myself and helping others heal, walking in the woods with my dog, making art, raising chickens, dancing in long skirts, taking long trips out to the mountains, taking a bus to the cities of the north once in a blue moon and no more frequently than that, to draw hearts in the snow and visit with aunties and friends and lovers.
In the beginning, traveling. Making money somehow. There's the nervewracking part. Making money somehow. There are so many jobs I can't do. AH, but there's the... future money. I do have that future money. I need to apply for disability, too. NOW. NOW. NOW.
My heart thumps harder to think of those trees in the West. I need to see them. I need to live in a little cabin alone and write. I need to travel to Los Angeles and be overwhelmed and shy and walk all over the place with joy to meet new people and hear new things and hear the same things people say in other cities from new mouths. I need to stretch out and dance. I need to dance. I need to dance dance DANCE my absolute LOVE for this world.
I need to write my memoir. I need to dance like this for me. Dance like this. Dance like this. FOR ME FOR ME FOR ME. And a little bit for my brother.
I need to go East and see the Great Smoky Mountains and visit Jenna on the Outer Banks and see my Uncle in Maryland, meet my cousins who are strangers to me, and up to New York to visit Kevin and brother and Lauren(?) and then to Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick, and then fly straight to the UP to put my feet in Lake Superior again and be glad, glad, GLAD for the world. And spend time with my lovely aunts and cousins. And then to Chicago to find where my Great Uncle Don is buried and lay a tribute on that grave, for he was a great man. An artist and a bellwether. And then stop down in Minneapolis and say hello to old haunts and old friends, and then back west, maybe this time via the Black Hills and then Yellowstone, and see a little bit more of the west, the Northwest, British Columbia, and then back on down the coast, stop at Tahoe in honor of my Uncle Frank. And then to Colorado to see Aunt Debby again, and other friends, and then to the Outland to see my favorite New Mexico women, and then HOME. And HOME is most certainly Taos or Santa Fe or somewheres around those parts.
The tiny house is real. The dog is real. The counseling degree is real. The writing is real. The skirts are real. The tattoos are real. The travel is real. The art is real. The visits are real. The stars in the desert night are real. The only thing that isn't real is me making it happen.
I must make it happen.
On the bus the next morning, wishing I had coffee but too thrilled with the excitement of the journey to care much that I didn't, I stared in rapture out the greasy window and listened to The Fountain soundtrack. (That soundtrack will FOREVER be associated with that trip. That day. That adventure.) As I sat upright in my bus seat staring in anticipation, waiting for the sun to come up and shed light on the bumps and humps to the east and the west, I started to see it. The spine. One long spine. Spiky mountains. Blocky looking, at times. Jagged. Sloping up and down as the bus rolled by. EXACTLY as I had dreamt them. In my dream I had thought the shapes were rocks themselves, peaks themselves, but in real life, though they looked the same as I had dreamt them, the shapes were actually TREES. Which is perfect, given my dendrolatry.
I don't know where I will end up, but that trip gave me a taste I liked, and so I must reconcile the dreams or live a little of all of them until I find the RIGHT dream to give my ALL to.
Or just do them in the right order and end up, in the end, in the tiny house, with the counseling degree, writing my heart out, healing myself and helping others heal, walking in the woods with my dog, making art, raising chickens, dancing in long skirts, taking long trips out to the mountains, taking a bus to the cities of the north once in a blue moon and no more frequently than that, to draw hearts in the snow and visit with aunties and friends and lovers.
In the beginning, traveling. Making money somehow. There's the nervewracking part. Making money somehow. There are so many jobs I can't do. AH, but there's the... future money. I do have that future money. I need to apply for disability, too. NOW. NOW. NOW.
My heart thumps harder to think of those trees in the West. I need to see them. I need to live in a little cabin alone and write. I need to travel to Los Angeles and be overwhelmed and shy and walk all over the place with joy to meet new people and hear new things and hear the same things people say in other cities from new mouths. I need to stretch out and dance. I need to dance. I need to dance dance DANCE my absolute LOVE for this world.
I need to write my memoir. I need to dance like this for me. Dance like this. Dance like this. FOR ME FOR ME FOR ME. And a little bit for my brother.
I need to go East and see the Great Smoky Mountains and visit Jenna on the Outer Banks and see my Uncle in Maryland, meet my cousins who are strangers to me, and up to New York to visit Kevin and brother and Lauren(?) and then to Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick, and then fly straight to the UP to put my feet in Lake Superior again and be glad, glad, GLAD for the world. And spend time with my lovely aunts and cousins. And then to Chicago to find where my Great Uncle Don is buried and lay a tribute on that grave, for he was a great man. An artist and a bellwether. And then stop down in Minneapolis and say hello to old haunts and old friends, and then back west, maybe this time via the Black Hills and then Yellowstone, and see a little bit more of the west, the Northwest, British Columbia, and then back on down the coast, stop at Tahoe in honor of my Uncle Frank. And then to Colorado to see Aunt Debby again, and other friends, and then to the Outland to see my favorite New Mexico women, and then HOME. And HOME is most certainly Taos or Santa Fe or somewheres around those parts.
The tiny house is real. The dog is real. The counseling degree is real. The writing is real. The skirts are real. The tattoos are real. The travel is real. The art is real. The visits are real. The stars in the desert night are real. The only thing that isn't real is me making it happen.
I must make it happen.