MARCH 12, 2017
Everyone dreams, but mine are muddled…
Wandering through a landscape of sorts, but the particulars are lost on me as I become conscious. Fleeting imagery, sensations of dark invaders, credit card debt and political intrigue. It’s all jumbled together and I struggle to be relieved of it all. Seems best to get up and make some coffee, rather than get all deep about it.
The intrigue of my unconscious state isn’t a novel experience, it simply happens and the night comes into light without much noise or fanfare. What happens in the dark of night is meaningless — isn’t it?
Lately though, there is a clear danger in remaining unaware. Revolution is brewing, but too many are quibbling about what lawyer was fired, or what to do about health care, or who gets a tax break and whether our election was decided by another country. The obvious failure of human decency has retreated into a history lesson my descendants may read — if the whole world isn’t destroyed. But life still goes on and I’m breathing in and out without much thought about all that.
The other day I had yet another run in with my mother. A simple phone call forced me to chose between being considerate and being right – and consideration always wins, between her and I. At least for me. There’s no way to be righteous in the face of that kind of exchange and impossible to turn away from what I know she gave me. Forget that it was a brief exchange of blood and bones, cells and consciousness. It’s been done, whether I intended any of it or not. We lose precious ground by insisting on clarity at times with some people. Best to admit to a departure from kindness, regardless of the insanity of the exchange. Best to try to grasp what’s at stake when my fragile superiority wins out, rather than respect for another person— regardless of anything.
In that intimate exchange, I see the value of extending the same consideration towards strangers. Soothing unrest with more cruelty or judgement is ridiculous, but it’s common now. Regular people are feuding back and forth, hurling insults, drawing invisible lines and questioning each other’s humanity because our realities don’t match up.
The eternity of life feels beyond my reach. How many lifetimes do we live before we actually sense of our power? Are my furtive dreams even that important, or just prickly reminders that not everything has been revealed? And maybe this revolution I sense coming, is really an evolution. If so, it’s simply too complicated to watch. Much like watching metamorphosis in real time. The impossibility of a worm seeing itself become a butterfly.