dreams, minutia and the Fear

yesterday between classes i sat around talking with a French-speaking Romanian about the malicious nature of nostaligias. she was unpersuaded by my arguments, and it was refreshing to talk with someone more concerned with nuance than minutia. but this is beside the point.

the point is that i dreamed last night of waves crashing higher and higher, closer and closer, until they threatened to tear down the little room with the big windows sitting by the sea. i woke at 4am, afraid and uncertain. eventually i fell back asleep.

when i woke this morning the Fear was gone, and i thought back to Sumati-ji and what she said about the (foolish) water (really) believing it was a wave.

maybe tonight i will dream of waves a little higher, a little bit closer. maybe one morning i will wake and realize i've been swimming in it all along.

"there is a light that never goes out"

my head is spinning, and i suppose the French is getting in the way of the Sanskrit, but this is beside the point.

the point is that i had a lovely morning and day and night and still i feel a little less than easy. at this particular moment there seem to be too many things on my plate, and i keep losing balance from moving my gaze from one delicious entree to the other. perhaps tonight i will dream...

things to do

i ended my night with Mozart, i'm starting my day with Beethoven, and somewhere in between fall five hours of sleep and a nightmare of New Jersey;

there is much to do today.

point A, point B (simple arithmetic)

point A = probation office.

workshopping a chapter of my first book,
juggling one minute on advice of my meditation teacher,
giving a clementine to a sadhu on an interstate off-ramp,
(re)meeting a poet last seen under the influence of ayahuasca,
fleeing from a rabid raccoon while reading the New York Times.

point B = grad school.

the distance between point A and point B is 12 hours;
these are interesting times.

get out of my mouth, Bukowski!

When we met
she told me she
wanted to be
alone.

But I didn’t listen
and soon I was in
her bed
until

one day
she said she
needed to be
alone.

But I didn’t listen
and this was repeated
many times
until

one night
she told me that
she didn’t not want
to spend the night
with me.

I looked around
her room and I saw
the cat on the bed
and a stack of books
on the nightstand and
I realized the

only
thing in her
life saying
she wasn't
alone
was me.

luddite (lite)

i spent my morning in a disagreement with one of my favorite purveyors of technology. the source of our misunderstanding is unimportant, but lies somewhere in the intersection of their website, my expectation and timing. i stepped back from the situation, taking a walk so i could clear my head before a meeting. but this is beside the point.

the point is that when i arrived at the meeting, i felt like i was walking into a David Lynch film. the Man in Red sat on the couch with a cow on his shirt while the Woman in Yellow stood on one leg by the counter. the Sick Lady was gliding about in a white robe, convalescing from the vomitous night that was. everyone in the room wore names from some long-dead language, and an eerie jazz soundtrack filled the room from a cell phone's loudspeaker.

"There [are] mysteries around here." - Kerouac

rabbit rabbit