Stop. Rewind. Remix. Replay.
Billy left me this on my cabin step yesterday...his birthday.
20 he is now. Stop, don't think about it, stop. Let it go, let it go. I keep picking it up, putting it down, picking it up again. Nothing productive in that at all.
Outside, under the eaves of the poolhouse...behind, where it just looks off into the trees. Leaning back in my chair, feet propped up on an upturned 5 gallon drum, head resting on the wall, I dream.
Taken: the other side of life. Down into the abyss, into the dark place where I feel I've been so long that I can't see my life, can't see wishing you well however it is you want to live your life. Can't enjoy my friends, can't appreciate my sister. I need to be out of here, out of this dank dark cold place. It didn't happen, you lived, I live, there's so much to be grateful for: why can I not get there? Where is the gate that lets me through to the other part of the world where the sun shines, and life goes on? Not here, not in this dream of concrete and fantasy, nor here, in the minefield, nor here with the demons, nor here when the illusions about how I came to camp shattered, nor in any scrap of light or dark between these pages.
Dream journal, dreamed, falls from dreamer's dreamed dreaming fingers, floats to damp earth beneath chair, spills dreams. Dreams lie on moss, on lichen, on baby's tears, curling and uncurling with moisture given, absorbed, then reassemble on pages momentarily blank, now filled again.
Dreamer wakes, reaches down, picks up journal, opens it... first entry light and gentle, saved, floating. with friends, before storms; after warnings, before fear sets in; retracing steps; taking stock: finding treasure; and new paths, until a decision looms: continue in sorrow, die by inches?
Or accept the gift, given in love, and live?
You lived... I will, too.
Smiling, I set my feet on the ground, stand, stretch, smile.
Tuck my lovely Billy's-birthday present into my dream journal, and return to waking life.
Funny, how dreams reset reality...I'm not so sad I can't think, can't feel, anymore.
Happy Birthday, Billy. Good wishes for the new year...
20 he is now. Stop, don't think about it, stop. Let it go, let it go. I keep picking it up, putting it down, picking it up again. Nothing productive in that at all.
Outside, under the eaves of the poolhouse...behind, where it just looks off into the trees. Leaning back in my chair, feet propped up on an upturned 5 gallon drum, head resting on the wall, I dream.
Taken: the other side of life. Down into the abyss, into the dark place where I feel I've been so long that I can't see my life, can't see wishing you well however it is you want to live your life. Can't enjoy my friends, can't appreciate my sister. I need to be out of here, out of this dank dark cold place. It didn't happen, you lived, I live, there's so much to be grateful for: why can I not get there? Where is the gate that lets me through to the other part of the world where the sun shines, and life goes on? Not here, not in this dream of concrete and fantasy, nor here, in the minefield, nor here with the demons, nor here when the illusions about how I came to camp shattered, nor in any scrap of light or dark between these pages.
Dream journal, dreamed, falls from dreamer's dreamed dreaming fingers, floats to damp earth beneath chair, spills dreams. Dreams lie on moss, on lichen, on baby's tears, curling and uncurling with moisture given, absorbed, then reassemble on pages momentarily blank, now filled again.
Dreamer wakes, reaches down, picks up journal, opens it... first entry light and gentle, saved, floating. with friends, before storms; after warnings, before fear sets in; retracing steps; taking stock: finding treasure; and new paths, until a decision looms: continue in sorrow, die by inches?
Or accept the gift, given in love, and live?
You lived... I will, too.
Smiling, I set my feet on the ground, stand, stretch, smile.
Tuck my lovely Billy's-birthday present into my dream journal, and return to waking life.
Funny, how dreams reset reality...I'm not so sad I can't think, can't feel, anymore.
Happy Birthday, Billy. Good wishes for the new year...