Strength From Strange Sources
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Sometimes, when everything is on a downswing, I seem to gather strength from the strangest sources.
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I was looking for a meaning in this morning's light (which might seem like a futile venture), and it was in the shadows cast by the torn blinds that I found a path leading into a memory I'd misplaced: the beautiful celebrants, we were tied into hope and dissolved by our very innocence. I'll try to explain. It was winter when DD and I began meeting regularly to share with each other the details of our dream, and these details were chronicled in a dream journal. She, quoting the old Everly Brothers' song, said to me "all I have to do is dream dream dream". I smiled at that. Our dreams, it seemed, were sort of tied to each other. A psychic segue. The journal was begun 29 years ago. As I had written then, "time is not the healer of wounds; rather, time is the wound". This has proved somewhat prophetic, but then there was also a flaw in my reasoning. Paradox of paranoia and nostalgia headlong into a fatal crash, perhaps, but I did not intend it to be taken literally, either. DD and I were so locked into the reverie of the moment, and in those days our slogans were as much metaphor as they were static. Above all, there was joy. There were smiles. Although the world outside of our tiny capsule was full of detractors who'd spit venom into our eyes and hiss with every passing glance, no one could penetrate that immaculate joy we had sealed within our smiles. Today, this morning, I had a revelation: the dreams, the smiles, everything is just as it was. The problem is that we stepped outside for too long, and thus we let our guard down. But there was the answer, in the shadow of my tiny room: our journal, still intact.
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"All I have to do is dream..."
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FCGST (sensory mode drifting)
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Sometimes, when everything is on a downswing, I seem to gather strength from the strangest sources.
°
I was looking for a meaning in this morning's light (which might seem like a futile venture), and it was in the shadows cast by the torn blinds that I found a path leading into a memory I'd misplaced: the beautiful celebrants, we were tied into hope and dissolved by our very innocence. I'll try to explain. It was winter when DD and I began meeting regularly to share with each other the details of our dream, and these details were chronicled in a dream journal. She, quoting the old Everly Brothers' song, said to me "all I have to do is dream dream dream". I smiled at that. Our dreams, it seemed, were sort of tied to each other. A psychic segue. The journal was begun 29 years ago. As I had written then, "time is not the healer of wounds; rather, time is the wound". This has proved somewhat prophetic, but then there was also a flaw in my reasoning. Paradox of paranoia and nostalgia headlong into a fatal crash, perhaps, but I did not intend it to be taken literally, either. DD and I were so locked into the reverie of the moment, and in those days our slogans were as much metaphor as they were static. Above all, there was joy. There were smiles. Although the world outside of our tiny capsule was full of detractors who'd spit venom into our eyes and hiss with every passing glance, no one could penetrate that immaculate joy we had sealed within our smiles. Today, this morning, I had a revelation: the dreams, the smiles, everything is just as it was. The problem is that we stepped outside for too long, and thus we let our guard down. But there was the answer, in the shadow of my tiny room: our journal, still intact.
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"All I have to do is dream..."
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FCGST (sensory mode drifting)
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