Dreaming my life away
Thanks, Stephen, I’ve really enjoyed my sentient dreaming, and in at least one case (my relationship with my father) it helped my life. But can you please tell me, now, how to separate dreaming from waking life? Specifically, I’m awake in my dream and I have (create) an experience, then react to it. Then I have a similar experience in my waking life and react to it based on my dreaming experience. Is that a “real” reaction? Have I “done that before”?
Transition Generation
We are the transition generation – the last to remember the taste of good food. Smell, and I suspect taste, is vibrational. Can it be reproduced artificially? Yes, but since we have to know what we’re going for, no. How quickly will that vibrational memory leave? From a practical point of view, I’d guess quickly. We used to reinforce it with the taste of a snappy strawberry, the quest for a truly sweet apple, fresh young asparagus. We have a genetic memory, which pushes us into our eating search, and we become fat with frustration.
Sturm und song
There is a strong connection between storms and singing. Both are transporters; both beam me up. Music, sung, begs to give up thought. Storms suck the thought right out of you. I leap, and fall, into the energy of it all.
Problem solved
It’s a frustrating problem. When I type on my laptop, my palms brush the touchpad and erratically move the cursor. What to do? Install new drivers? Modify the registry? Discover the hidden keyboard shortcut that disables the touchpad? No – let’s keep it simple – cover the touchpad with a 3×5 card, taped at the bottom for access to the touchpad when I don’t have a mouse. Problem solved. Why isn’t life like this? Wait … it is.
Mid night
It’s the middle of the night. Quiet. No light – no sight. But what’s that spaciousness?
Where Age Meets Beauty
I don’t want to simplify my life – I have to.
I must simplify because of physical slowness, mental confusion, and … well, because I’ve just seen too much to not be depressed. So I work to relieve my life’s complications: 1) to be able to get through my days, 2) to keep things straight, and 3) to leave plenty of time for nature.
Nature is a constant. Never overly complicated, never demanding, always nurturing. A constant. I give it more and more of my day.
Magic Days
Here’s a bookend. (def: way of seeing the world that occurs mostly early and late in life)
When I was a kid, everything else was secondary to a “magic day”. In southwest Illinois, magic days were often in the spring, when the air is clean, and there’s a certain smell (dirt / new growth) around. I would skip school, or at least show up late, to languish in a magic day.
Well, there’re back! No, this is not just a “nice day today, ain’t it?” kind of thing. This is a day that involuntarily changes your speed when you walk out into it. It has a sound. It has a texture. Other days are the Matrix – this one’s real!
