Trippy.
As if life were a dream, I now see this scene laid out before my eyes, though my eyes in reality see something else. I take in the flashing notices on my computer, the lines in the fake woodgrain on my desk, the pens and guitar picks and stone rabbit that pepper the surface of my workspace. What I see, though, is a vast plain under an overcast sky. I see rain falling slowly, slow enough to dodge the drops if I want to, but I let them splash over me. I am not in this painting that my innermost self creates for its own amusement, I am simply aware of being there. When I say “I,” I mean, aiua. Who I am at the core of this body, in the background of my life. The clouds swirl yet are solid, and the horizon almost doesn’t exist. I am starting to float up, and up, towards these clouds - their grey is the kind that is almost black, looks and makes my heart feel like peace and pollution, both at the same time. I begin floating up towards these clouds and I long to penetrate their underbelly - I long to make my way through their misty depths and emerge at the top, bathing in sunlight after a cold journey through dark grey and thunder. I do not go through, and though the sensation is still one of rising, I have not gotten any closer. Now the clouds become a drawing - a bold, cartoon drawing of clouds - they roll and curl, and drift lazily left and right. There is thunder but no lightning.
Now I clothe myself in music to drown out the sounds of a college dorm. I choose a song that has always reminded me of water, and I am now on a beach, under the same dark overcast sky. The waves roll in softly, silently. They lap at the edges of the earth, and beyond the breaking of the waves we will all fall off of the earth. A lone piece of driftwood comes to the shore and I move towards it. I being the camera, the point of view, the experience. I stand atop the driftwood and it grows and grows, sometimes into stairs leading up, sometimes into a great tree that sings and speaks to me. The sheer beauty of this experience makes my heart swell - I am only sitting in a college dorm, my room-mate is 5 feet away - yet I am also climbing stairs that building themselves - that grow fom this wood washed up from the sea. The waves continue to roll in, and leaves begin to bud on the sides of this lonely piece of driftwood that carries me up. I look down the beach, to the north - I am on an eastern coastline, I know, somehow. I look north and I see rocky cliffs overlooking the beach - insurmountable and endlessly high, they lead to the foot of a mountain that juts up inexcusably from the earth. It makes no apology for its existence, it just rises, strong, hard, angular, out and away from the lowness of the sea. This is not a cold, rocky mountain - it is a sea mountain - it is wet with the salt of the ocean. I want to go towards it - still I stand on my stairs, still I sit in this tree, which has grown soft, green leaves. They are large, like jungle ferns - they brush my face as I look north. I can feel the fronds on my neck - like a lover’s touch. I am either losing my mind or am intoxicated with creativity, inspired to leave my body, to journey to the place that my mind has painted for me. It’s like dreaming, but controlling the dream - my control is limited - the most beautiful progresses come unbidden - they are placed in my mind for no reason - or because I call for a new picture, and it is provided. Now an island floats to me from the reaches of the sea. It looks sometimes like the back of a turtle, with the great creature’s head rising out of the ocean. I am now forced to choose - where will I reside? Not forced - nothing is forceful here. I am drawn to the mountain because I wish to see what is at the top. I want to climb onto this mobile island’s back and see where it will take me. I want to swim deep underneath the ocean, because I know the moment I enter the water I will become a fish or dolphin - or some other sea dweller, and I will belong there, and I will be at home. If I choose to ascend the mountain I will simply rise up it. Or maybe I will imagine that I walk up slowly, with a staff in my hand to steady me, like a weary but deserving traveler, who has come a long way, and still has a long way to go. The stairs on which I now sit have continued to grow and grow - they now circle above me in a halo, large and somehow old. They aren’t so solid anymore - a thousand branches moving away from a central strand. These are like drawings my father once showed me - complicated, complex, and somehow important.
I am now at the base of the mountain, and a cave is open before me. It is lit without torch, the way is clear to me. I walk down a slight incline, and the walls begin to gleam with gemstones. I am in awe - the music changes to just the right song, just as I write that the walls begin to sparkle. The cavern is full of gleaming jewels, diamonds that glow white - I struggle to keep up with the movement in this “dream”… the picture fades to white, and … I am where? Is this like waking up? Images pass before my eyes but none take hold …. I’m on a boat - waves are rocking me up and down … it is peaceful, and dramatic - this is like a movie. I attribute this to the music that is playing - … - the boat has grown wings, it is now a great beast, it flies up away from the water … I am back at my first image of grey overcast sky, though indeed the sky has not changed once since I started describing these events. With a crest in the music, my dragon bursts through the top of the clouds and rolls lazily back and forth among them. It is white and bright up here - The sky is an ocean beneath me. The sun is a softly shining orb in front of me - it contains my silhouette, whoever I am.
The song has just ended, and it feels appropriate to stop writing. This has truly been a strange experience. It was like dreaming, like experiencing something outside myself- I was awake, I was aware enough to type and take down what was going on, but most of the time my eyes were closed and just … experiencing. No doubt I am able to have this kind of experience because of how my head throbs with caffeine withdrawal, and also because I have been sleeping at odd hours today - my lethargic body has given way to my mind’s desire to be elsewhere, even if it’s content to just be lazy, too. I have been reading, too. Hundreds of pages a day - I consume the words of a respected author like food and water, and the beautiful worlds and people he has created have inspired me. I hope that this happens again sometime.
Now I clothe myself in music to drown out the sounds of a college dorm. I choose a song that has always reminded me of water, and I am now on a beach, under the same dark overcast sky. The waves roll in softly, silently. They lap at the edges of the earth, and beyond the breaking of the waves we will all fall off of the earth. A lone piece of driftwood comes to the shore and I move towards it. I being the camera, the point of view, the experience. I stand atop the driftwood and it grows and grows, sometimes into stairs leading up, sometimes into a great tree that sings and speaks to me. The sheer beauty of this experience makes my heart swell - I am only sitting in a college dorm, my room-mate is 5 feet away - yet I am also climbing stairs that building themselves - that grow fom this wood washed up from the sea. The waves continue to roll in, and leaves begin to bud on the sides of this lonely piece of driftwood that carries me up. I look down the beach, to the north - I am on an eastern coastline, I know, somehow. I look north and I see rocky cliffs overlooking the beach - insurmountable and endlessly high, they lead to the foot of a mountain that juts up inexcusably from the earth. It makes no apology for its existence, it just rises, strong, hard, angular, out and away from the lowness of the sea. This is not a cold, rocky mountain - it is a sea mountain - it is wet with the salt of the ocean. I want to go towards it - still I stand on my stairs, still I sit in this tree, which has grown soft, green leaves. They are large, like jungle ferns - they brush my face as I look north. I can feel the fronds on my neck - like a lover’s touch. I am either losing my mind or am intoxicated with creativity, inspired to leave my body, to journey to the place that my mind has painted for me. It’s like dreaming, but controlling the dream - my control is limited - the most beautiful progresses come unbidden - they are placed in my mind for no reason - or because I call for a new picture, and it is provided. Now an island floats to me from the reaches of the sea. It looks sometimes like the back of a turtle, with the great creature’s head rising out of the ocean. I am now forced to choose - where will I reside? Not forced - nothing is forceful here. I am drawn to the mountain because I wish to see what is at the top. I want to climb onto this mobile island’s back and see where it will take me. I want to swim deep underneath the ocean, because I know the moment I enter the water I will become a fish or dolphin - or some other sea dweller, and I will belong there, and I will be at home. If I choose to ascend the mountain I will simply rise up it. Or maybe I will imagine that I walk up slowly, with a staff in my hand to steady me, like a weary but deserving traveler, who has come a long way, and still has a long way to go. The stairs on which I now sit have continued to grow and grow - they now circle above me in a halo, large and somehow old. They aren’t so solid anymore - a thousand branches moving away from a central strand. These are like drawings my father once showed me - complicated, complex, and somehow important.
I am now at the base of the mountain, and a cave is open before me. It is lit without torch, the way is clear to me. I walk down a slight incline, and the walls begin to gleam with gemstones. I am in awe - the music changes to just the right song, just as I write that the walls begin to sparkle. The cavern is full of gleaming jewels, diamonds that glow white - I struggle to keep up with the movement in this “dream”… the picture fades to white, and … I am where? Is this like waking up? Images pass before my eyes but none take hold …. I’m on a boat - waves are rocking me up and down … it is peaceful, and dramatic - this is like a movie. I attribute this to the music that is playing - … - the boat has grown wings, it is now a great beast, it flies up away from the water … I am back at my first image of grey overcast sky, though indeed the sky has not changed once since I started describing these events. With a crest in the music, my dragon bursts through the top of the clouds and rolls lazily back and forth among them. It is white and bright up here - The sky is an ocean beneath me. The sun is a softly shining orb in front of me - it contains my silhouette, whoever I am.
The song has just ended, and it feels appropriate to stop writing. This has truly been a strange experience. It was like dreaming, like experiencing something outside myself- I was awake, I was aware enough to type and take down what was going on, but most of the time my eyes were closed and just … experiencing. No doubt I am able to have this kind of experience because of how my head throbs with caffeine withdrawal, and also because I have been sleeping at odd hours today - my lethargic body has given way to my mind’s desire to be elsewhere, even if it’s content to just be lazy, too. I have been reading, too. Hundreds of pages a day - I consume the words of a respected author like food and water, and the beautiful worlds and people he has created have inspired me. I hope that this happens again sometime.