Fairy Tale Endings. And all that. Just don’t happen.
So a good movie depicting just that sort of thing happening presents itself, time and again, inside the realm of my imagination. And that’s a pretty big country.
I accept the character that has just entered, while he may be stark naked, and standing on some yet unknown astrological sign, I at least offer a towel as a cover up so I can focus on the task at hand. I am the sculptor in this moment of time. Grabbing a bucket in case I begin to salivate, having taken a vow of celibacy years ago, I begin to dream of a beautiful hand woven tartan that wraps around us both. Damn.
Life and dreams, dreams and life, reality, reality, reality…whispers in my ear like Dorothy and her Ruby Slippers.
Home is where the heart is…repeat after me.
And mine is wandering the Universe through some portal.
A scene begins to materialize.
I dreamt of an electric highway less than twenty hours ago. Golden yellow, smooth and so unlike the Yellow Brick Road that I absolutely had to step onto this inviting atmospheric ribbon. (for all I know it could have been fly paper ribbon hanging from a tobacco stained ceiling) The exact second that my right toe touched this golden highway an electrical vibration shot through my body like an unfinished orgasm that belonged to Olympus or Parnassus. Oh, beejeepers. I had to jump off and pass on this one. I was so not prepared. But then I have to think on this…are any of us ever prepared for those happenings in our lives that are somewhat indescribable.
Love. Good, caring, honest love, not unlike childbirth, takes time to develop. As does friendship. There may be that initial moment of conception that all is good…but at least one has time to get used to the idea of a life change. Then there is that sort of moment, rare, but sometimes, it grabs you, takes you into this space of awareness that breaks down barriers, walls, shaking the earth around you in such a way you either learn to elevate or die. One of those how I view life altering experiences.
I was sharing thoughts and words across a Skype connection the other morning, or night, whichever, reading poetry back and forth with an absolutely fantastic poet. Picking and choosing a few unfinished works to get some feed back and the whole thing was an ego trip right down the drain. Reminiscent of burnt meatloaf on a Wednesday Night because it’s what you used to do. Premeditated rather than spontaneously ordained. I being the guilty party of the first part because I am a needy creature.
Some folks have these amazing voices, literary talent, and still maintain a well balanced life between the spoken word and ego. I am not one of these people.
I need reassurance, pats on the back, constant sideways glances that I’m not going to fall off the bicycle as it’s wobbling along on two flat tires. Yes, flat, I’ve been riding through broken glass for more then two decades. I decided it was safer to ride than walk barefoot.
And so that stepping onto the glittering golden highway threw me for a loop. Warning mechanisms? Possibly.
I search for words to replay these things that have been happening. Dreams, images, feelings, emotions that I hadn’t felt for such a long time. Turning story lines over in my mind, I think of this one short story for children that would be quite good if I could spend the time it deserves working on it. And how could I possibly feel this good with so much painful goings on in my life.
I caught myself dancing yesterday, for the first time in years, while making the bed, twirling the blanket overhead and around the room like a teenage girl on a picnic down by the river.
When I dance I write, when I sculpt, when I breathe, I celebrate life, love and all the possibilities that are waiting for me. And then there is the other side. But for now, when my eyes close, with my arms curling around that replacement pillow, I might allow myself to take that step onto a golden river.
Lets just hope it’s not fly paper.
Maybe I’ll be updating this post throughout the week with art and poetry.