a recurring dream

théo van rysselberghe "voiliers sur l'escault"


and so -

it begins with a dream.

a recurring dream that I have about abandonment. about being given up by someone - my mother, my brother, my wife, my children - in the dream a person who is intimately and emotionally connected to me leaves me for someone else.

i cry.

i hit them with anger.

i throw things, and as i throw things i have a sense of myself as a child and all that i have carried from that time.

vulnerable.
powerless.
inadequate.
unworthy.

my intuitive sense is that the "other" person constitutes the world.

it is also my sense that i have worked very hard to earn acceptance from the world. that i make every effort to earn this acceptance through my work, my behaviours, and through my self-deprecating attitude towards my apparent self.

it is there.
it is associated with me.
it has damaged me.

it is my perception of the perceptions of the world towards me that i strike out at. it is my own idea of what constitutes 'acceptance' from the world that i have worked towards. it is an empty game.

because 'the world' only exists as a construct of ideas in me that i need in order to give my self context and form.

it is my self that even now i am trying to accept.

and so the fight is between my outer (perceived) and inner (actual) selves.

last night the moon came dropping its clothes in the street

"daylight moon v" parisa tirnaz

the new rule

drunkards fall upon each other, quarrel,
become violent and make a scene.
it is the rule.
like the drunkard and
worse than the drunkard is the lover.
to be in love is to enter a gold mine,
but what kind of gold is found there?
the lover, king above all kings,
is not afraid to die and cares nothing for a golden crown.
just as the dervish, with a pearl concealed beneath his worn out cloak,
is not ashamed to beg from door to door.
last night the moon came dropping its clothes in the street
“get up,” i told my heart, “and give the soul a glass of wine.
the moment has come to join the nightingale in the garden,
to taste sugar with the parrot of the soul.”
i have fallen, with my heart shattered
i have fallen on your sacred path and broken your bowl
i am drunk my idol, so very drunk
shield me and take my hand.
a new rule, a new law has been decreed.
break all the glasses and fall toward the glassblower.
rumi


"let the water settle; you will see the moon and stars mirrored in your being." - rumi

we contain all the passions

"the madonna of port lligat" salvador dali


song

we contain all the passions
and all the vices
and all the suns and stars,
chasms and heights,
trees, animals, forests, streams.
this is what we are.
our experience lies
in our veins,
in our nerves.
we stagger.
burning
between grey blocks of houses.
on bridges of steel.
light from a thousand tubes
flows around us,
and a thousand violet nights
etch sharp wrinkles
in our faces.

george grosz

there is so much floods into me in the course of a day. so many voices, so many needs, so many expectations. then there are the voices, needs and expectations of my self.

on my way home west into the evening, the sun sets like a gold bar behind the hill i live on. and as i walk or ride, as part of my daily practice, i consider the day behind me and the evening before me.

i unpack all the written, spoken, felt, perceived and imagined histories of the day.

i search for the points of truth that sometimes rise discreetly above the whole. moments unbidden that have walked in the door and afforded a momentary transformation, an elevation of purpose and intent.

an opportunity to see and experience beyond what was intended - to see and experience what is necessary.