Stillness is complimented by motion, and silence supports a narrative in the same way the vast sky is noted for its heavenly bodies. Back and forth, inline and outline. My love is pure and unsullied by the marks I make from moment to moment, by the stories I tell day to day. I am very, very clear on that.
I have never been more free to explore the possibilities, plot lines and characters that form the subtle texture of this living, multidimensional canvas. The more I look, the more things appear, and the more a "solid" sense of self becomes unnecessary. I was born in Earthquake Land, and had to develop sea legs for future oceans. I see this now, and my nerves turn toward drinking in rather than running from. It just feels better, that way.
I'm a languaging being, even when I wish I was dead quiet. My dreams are stories that sometimes astound me. I can take any given day and make a story out of it; I can notice any appearance and give it a history, a present-feeling, and possibly a future. It's how humans are wired, leveled, terraced and tiered. It's how we are rooted, branched and tapped. I can deal with it, these days, because none of it amounts to anything important. I am not important, and neither are my stories. They can cozy right up to what's common, what's fascinating, what's not even known yet, because they are no longer stuck in the superglue of egolust. I don't believe in the stuff anymore. God, Spirit, S/He-It doesn't need glue to keep it all together, because nothing is really broken. I was certainly never as shattered as I felt! It was a story that I thought was true, for a while, until it wasn't.
Now, the opposite seems truer than broken ever did...no matter how things slide, wiggle or crash, I am whole. I feel that it makes perfect sense to draw on the surface of a pond, write in the air with my fingertip. It makes as much sense as paying bills, counting pumpkins in my garden, finding the wild animal within. I can be passionately lonely or silly or depressed. Nothing is off the table. I find that arguing with life is perfectly ok, as such idiocy is sweetly accepted by that very same, double-jointed, tongue-in-cheek Master of Irony, who is just as delighted by depression as she is by dancing in the light of the moon. Think about it.
Excuse me for wandering around in circles, here...my point is, if I'm going to tell myself stories that I am not honor-bound to believe, they might as well be good ones! Here are a few:
Childhood is not lost.
Sometimes, I am a genius.
No, I don't look as old as I am in Earth-years.
One of these days, I will remember all those t-shirt lines that Rylan and I dreamed up at the Phish show. (Some of them were amazingly funny!)
Everyone is an artist of some kind (no exceptions).
There is a change going on that has nothing to do with any political party. There is a party going on that can do nothing but change. We are all invited.
I know what's wrong with education today. I have lots of ways to fix it!
Deep down inside, we all love something passionately. Maybe several things. Therein lies the juice.
I am not done with kissing, nor is kissing done with me.
Every single dream, no matter how insignificant, grandiose or corny, is a living thing with no beginning or end, and is as vital as water and fertile as loam. Like us.
Fairy-tales, adventure, escapist romance? Yes, yes, and yes. Instruction booklets? Of course. Heavy philosophical tomes? Good for ya, but chew slowly. Non-fiction? Are you sure?!
I know that I don't know; I don't know that I know. I love that story. :)