A Dream of You

I’ve rarely dreamed about you, at least that I can remember. But I have thought about you a lot, and felt a lot.

Last night I had a dream about you.

I was at your father’s house. But it was not your father’s house – it was lighter, strewn about with the clutter of many things, and smaller. The focus was a couch. You and I were seated on the couch next to each other, my father was there also – he sat on the other side of you, and your father was seated next to me. So, on your right, was me. On your left, my father. On my left, you. On my right, your father.

Our fathers would switch places sometimes.

You were balding, ugly and angry that you were there, wanting to leave. But I still felt something for you, and wondered why you remained. You yelled at me about it for a while. Your father looked at me with some kind of empathy – like he understood, and was apologising to me, and saying, this you must accept – it is he- but he said nothing other than with his eyes and his stance.

My father sat there like a tree growing deep into earth, which made me feel secure. But he also said nothing.

Then this small group of people came over who were friends of yours. They dressed themselves up, the girls had their hair cut nicely, they all wore clothes as if they were going out to a nightclub party night – they talked about television shows and spoke about people who weren’t there in petty ways. When they looked at each other they saw nothing, but had some kind of rappor that kept their energy/talking level high. Their laughs seemed nervous.

You were leaving with them to go to a restaurant. And then you all left as a group, and you accused me of something as you left, without saying it.

I looked at your father, very sad, and he just looked back, and I knew he understood.

There was another guy there – I’m not really sure where he came from. But he surprised me from behind, and I turned around to look at him, and his hair looked like it had just been chopped closely to his head, and he was dressed unusually, having the look of intensity and honesty. He smiled at me. And I remembered something that ran like a deep, hot chill to the core of what I am.

When I left, I looked back at the house, and all the lights were off – darkness. But I saw movement through the window.

The air was crisp, alive. And the tall trees shuddered in the wind, all at once.

A Message to My Friends

Random FountainToday as I was driving home, I stopped at a light near a building. The building’s side nearest the road has a little park in which a giant round area exists which contains random shoots of water that spray in a great steady stream high into the air. It’s impossible to predict when a given shoot of water will erupt – and the little park makes no distinction between the safe cement and the uncertain eruptions of water, other than the giant round circle on the ground, which is completely flat and flush with the normal pavement.

Two boys were running about in it today – one much taller than the other – in his early to mid teens, and the other boy just nearing his teens. Their shirts were fairly well drenched from the play. They would walk out into the circle, waiting – then dodge and run as eruptions occurred, laughing and yelling. They were of the same mind in this – pure enjoyment of the uncertainty, of the exhilirating feel of sudden cold water, and of the novelty.

I remembered a dear friend’s children whom I had begun to know. The oldest was two. I remembered the shape of what she knew, and could perceive, and the grand journey of her explorations. I would allow myself to enter into her sphere, allowing to dissolve all the many periphery things we grow accustomed to, and take for granted – and I would listen to her, and speak with her. It truly is incredible all the things you can learn, from anyone, when you truly allow yourself to listen, and when you truly listen to what you say. And in this time before Rules or Law, before right and wrong, before knowing the greater challenges of existence, before we are handed our eyes upon the world, in large part by the people who raise us – all possibilities exist.

A couple days ago I received a mail from Ian, commenting on the technical nature of a letter I sent to my friends – how it reminded him of Star Trek or Battlestar Galactica. Then I remembered something I had forgotten, yet have almost always known.

The people whom I have called friends, and who have allowed me to call them so, are not easily grouped together. It has historically been a very rare thing for any of my friends to get along well with each other. Each is so vastly different. It leaves me wondering, what is it that somehow draws us together?

Upon entering each person’s sphere, it is so simple to see the amazing circumstances that have led them to become the being they are – when each of you listen, and each of you come forth with honesty and trust. And what can possibly be more incredible?

Yet why is something like this so rare? What is it that causes these individual spheres to so often react badly with one another, when the beauty in each is so apparent?

I told Ian about a party I once had where I had invited many of my friends. I’ve learned this is not always a wise thing. They clustered into similar groupings, and the interactions between the members of the groups were not always good – yet there was a good deal of curiosity, which often led to some humorous events – and a couple disturbing ones.

I realize now that even in high school and college I “moved between worlds”, and these “worlds” rarely overlapped. Yet somehow I remained the same. Somehow, I fit into each, yet was simultaneously completely apart.

And I have to ask myself, have I worn masks as I travelled, altering my image to conform to any sphere encountered? Have I lied to people, to friends, about who or what I am, so that I might be accepted. Have I sacrificed parts of myself to gain the love or understanding of you, or another?

But I can’t imagine I have. I know that interacting with some of you can be challenging, and others of you it’s just pure comfort. So I wonder, is it the dynamic between us, or is it simply each other? I imagine it’s both.

So I think of this little girl, so distant in her awareness, yet the same, and I can see myself. I speak with you, about many one things or anothers, and we always find ourselves silent, somehow, in the end. Understanding, and feeling – knowing. But silent, in the end. In each of our spheres.

And I cannot help be wonder, this place, where all things come to, for each of us, eventually – how is it that my friends cannot find this with each other?

On the surfaces, we all make decisions. Decisions that will empower us, isolate us, confuse us, protect us, hide us, exhault us, liberate us – decisions that perpetuate us.

Louise Gluck in her poem Midsummer says:

You were not intended
to be unique. You were
my embodiment, all diversity

not what you think you see
searching the bright sky over the field,
your incidental souls
fixed like telescopes on some
enlargement of yourselves —

Why would I make you if I meant
to limit myself
to the ascendant sign,
the star, the fire, the fury?

Which makes me remember, I know that each you are very strong people. And in some ways, very weak. Just like me. I think that humility is certainly a characteristic that each of you has in abundance – though I wonder still, why the problems getting along. Challenging, yes, each of you. And perceptive.

I wonder if judgemental erodes humility, or clouds perception?

If so, I have to thank you very much for being less judgemental with me!

Heh. Maybe I’m being challenging right now. But I’m isolated away out here in Kent just now, and there’s nobody around to say this to, as might normally ramble on about. But, for me, it’s a nice alternative to coding for a while… 🙂

Cya soon…