Crazy things happening. Two major areas of my life. Different situations but so many parallels!
Neither one seems likely to ever return to normality - whatever that means.
Am thinking of Stephen King's 'Gunslinger' series and the repetition of the phrase, "the world has moved on". Yes, this seems to be true for sure.
Am thinking of Motley Crue's 'Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)' and the lines "nothing left to do, too many things were said, to ever make it feel like yesterday did".
Am also thinking of Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'Jesus Christ Superstar', and Pontias Pilot's lines "But what is truth? Is truth a changing law? We both have truths. Are mine the same as yours?"
Am wondering why I sometimes keep my stupid tongue still in my head but other times I don't. Which is right by me and which is right by God? What right do I have to speak my truth when it affects the truth of others? Unless there is absolute truth and I so happen to be on it's side. Likely, much!
Am also thinking of Douglas Adam's picture of the guy who wielded supreme power and influence in the galaxy. I can't even begin to describe or allude to this one; it's something too brilliant to do anything other than stand alone in it's comparison to real life, or at least, how it should be.
Yes, the world has moved on. We are in the middle of it's turning but there very clearly is a line drawn in the sand from which most of us cannot return.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Up To Them
Things have changed. There was no prophecy for reconciliation. Stupid to think it would ever happen. Again I am insulted and again I am lectured. I have drawn a line in the sand and will continue to remain steadfast in the respect I have for myself. I am sorry that those I love are hurting but I am more sorry that those I love don't express love when I am hurting. I only speak my truth. How they feel about that is up to them.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Then So May Be Below - A Dream of Non-Literally Prophetic Proportions
In my dream, I looked over from the kitchen and saw her, lounging sideways in feigned resplendence, reminisce of Cleopatra or one of the noble creatures synonymous with the regal positioning of one on a chaise. But it wasn't a chaise - it was just The Green Lounge. A wholly unremarkable, re-gifted item of furniture, worthy of being spoken of in Title Case, as it had for years been known of in our household, in simple irony for this very quality of unremarkableness.
In that moment, I froze. The conscious experience of a million thoughts racing through my head manifest itself in my dream, but at the forefront was a firm belief that it wasn't even 12 o'clock yet. It was Christmas Day and I was hosting lunch, a grand affair to be sure, but one which I hadn't commenced preparations for other than in my thoughts - clearly progress that was severely lacking given that the guests had arrived started to arrive. I had no idea what idle pursuits had devoured my time that morning but having just presented myself to the kingdom of the hostess, otherwise known as the kitchen, my terror and mounting indignation were surely well-justified.
There seemed to be more than a hint of a gleam of a sparkle in her eye to delight in my lapse in composure - something that I had vowed to carry through this long-loathed encounter as a very minimum, given the history of our relationship in the last few years. I took a moment to absorb the qualities that never failed to insight tisk-worthy disdain on my part as her fox-like gaze held mine, lapping up the discomfort I had allowed to appear so obvious.
It was her size that impressed me next, a quality that seldom receives comment when there is an ongoing air of quarrel amongst family that otherwise desire for peace to prevail over insidiousness and siding guile. Perhaps Cleopatra was a much more unlikely comparator than I first perceived, with perhaps the likes of Herrod or another emperor of size would have been a better fit, as it were. My sudden observance of my previous ignorance of maroon being held in esteem as the slimming colour began the turn of power in humour back into my favour, for maroon was adorning her in every possible way, and the barely perceived yet enormously telling falter in that glare as a narrowing of my own eyes and a tight-lipped wryness of smile touched my own lips dominated my own persona.
Then, she spoke. Her words are now faded into the memory of that dream, but I am sure beyond all surety that they were spoken in reconciliation. Her appearance to me spoke in my subconscious of that past in all of the years of pain and audacious, distorted assumptions not only made but also thrust upon others yet her words, her words, they were the future.
It is clear to me that there will be no literal prophetic deliverance of the messages this dream brought to me. That I am hosting a lunch on Christmas Day is true, but the invitation that would make her appearance at such an event likely has already been most politely declined. Logic, or at least what passes for logic in the subjective realms of my brainly functionings, then inclines me to believe that symbolism, which I love dearly and revere in solemn and increasingly expanding attraction within my existence, is key. Such a revelation in terms of dream interpretation, I am sure!
From the hypnagogic explorations of these symbols to the analysis that has stayed with me in waking through the ensuing days, I am carrying an air of expectant anticipation. Year end is undoubtedly a time of change, but when there is an opportunity for that change, regardless of what has preceded it, to make way for positive new beginnings that the January that relentlessly follows, well, that brings the true meaning of this turning of the wheel to undeniable deliverance.
Each year, I'm sure, many of us utter vows and vow utterances to start afresh but hold back in the areas that we long for the most, often being relationships with family and friends. If you have successfully struggled through these wakeless images and wakeful interpretations, may that give you leave to accept the omen and realise any parallels in your own life that you can forgive yourself no further excuses to resolve, once and for all, to make the necessary adjustments so that as is above then so may be below.
In that moment, I froze. The conscious experience of a million thoughts racing through my head manifest itself in my dream, but at the forefront was a firm belief that it wasn't even 12 o'clock yet. It was Christmas Day and I was hosting lunch, a grand affair to be sure, but one which I hadn't commenced preparations for other than in my thoughts - clearly progress that was severely lacking given that the guests had arrived started to arrive. I had no idea what idle pursuits had devoured my time that morning but having just presented myself to the kingdom of the hostess, otherwise known as the kitchen, my terror and mounting indignation were surely well-justified.
There seemed to be more than a hint of a gleam of a sparkle in her eye to delight in my lapse in composure - something that I had vowed to carry through this long-loathed encounter as a very minimum, given the history of our relationship in the last few years. I took a moment to absorb the qualities that never failed to insight tisk-worthy disdain on my part as her fox-like gaze held mine, lapping up the discomfort I had allowed to appear so obvious.
It was her size that impressed me next, a quality that seldom receives comment when there is an ongoing air of quarrel amongst family that otherwise desire for peace to prevail over insidiousness and siding guile. Perhaps Cleopatra was a much more unlikely comparator than I first perceived, with perhaps the likes of Herrod or another emperor of size would have been a better fit, as it were. My sudden observance of my previous ignorance of maroon being held in esteem as the slimming colour began the turn of power in humour back into my favour, for maroon was adorning her in every possible way, and the barely perceived yet enormously telling falter in that glare as a narrowing of my own eyes and a tight-lipped wryness of smile touched my own lips dominated my own persona.
Then, she spoke. Her words are now faded into the memory of that dream, but I am sure beyond all surety that they were spoken in reconciliation. Her appearance to me spoke in my subconscious of that past in all of the years of pain and audacious, distorted assumptions not only made but also thrust upon others yet her words, her words, they were the future.
It is clear to me that there will be no literal prophetic deliverance of the messages this dream brought to me. That I am hosting a lunch on Christmas Day is true, but the invitation that would make her appearance at such an event likely has already been most politely declined. Logic, or at least what passes for logic in the subjective realms of my brainly functionings, then inclines me to believe that symbolism, which I love dearly and revere in solemn and increasingly expanding attraction within my existence, is key. Such a revelation in terms of dream interpretation, I am sure!
From the hypnagogic explorations of these symbols to the analysis that has stayed with me in waking through the ensuing days, I am carrying an air of expectant anticipation. Year end is undoubtedly a time of change, but when there is an opportunity for that change, regardless of what has preceded it, to make way for positive new beginnings that the January that relentlessly follows, well, that brings the true meaning of this turning of the wheel to undeniable deliverance.
Each year, I'm sure, many of us utter vows and vow utterances to start afresh but hold back in the areas that we long for the most, often being relationships with family and friends. If you have successfully struggled through these wakeless images and wakeful interpretations, may that give you leave to accept the omen and realise any parallels in your own life that you can forgive yourself no further excuses to resolve, once and for all, to make the necessary adjustments so that as is above then so may be below.
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