I had a dream, and as I have actually been remembering my dreams lately, I thought I would try to get this down...

We were walking on a sea wall - some place cold and misty, like England; it was a foreign place, but it still kind of felt like St. Augustine. There was an older man with us who I didn't recognize, but his presence was kind and it seemed that we cared deeply about him.

Somehow, I got ahead of the two of you. All of a sudden, a gigantic tsunami type wave came and swept me off of the wall, gobbled me into the sea like a baleen whale sucking up a tiny fish. I was dragged to the crest of another wave, and pounded back into the water repeatedly. It was terrifying, but somehow I was staying alive, and there were other people in the water who seemed to have removed themselves from the vicious cycle. They kept telling me to take a deep breath and dive, dive down into the cold, unknown depths and eventually I would escape to a small beach that capped the tide line.

So I did. I guess I miraculously turned into Aqua Girl, because I held my breath long enough to sink down into the navy blue calmness and free myself of the crashing waves.

Once back on land, I was frantic to find the two of you, scared that you had been swept off into oblivion. But when I found my way back to the sea wall you were still there, hands in pockets, having the kind of solid chat that is rare and meaningful. I don't remember wondering whether or not you noticed that I was gone; I just marveled over the fact that you were still there, waiting for me to return. The panic dissipated as I realized that you were safe, and I was safe, and we were together again.

It was a good dream, it was a dream that meant something to me - perhaps that you represent the calm in my stormy psyche. And the old man? THE Old Man, maybe? Walking along, having a chat?

Did you know that God was by your side?

Repost. To remind myself. Trying. But could try a lot harder...

Friday, December 25, 2009

Before the inspiration dips below the horizon of my heart...

"I gave her my heart, and she gave me a pen." Say Anything

I am starting to know when something is right...I feel it. I just know. I don't question it. It just is. Like an instinct. Like the sky. No doubt in the addled brain means a lot. But I am also learning that even though I know something, it doesn't always mean anything...because some of the feelings that I have, though valid, can't ever breathe the light of day if they are not shared. Other feelings are significantly mine: when warmth spreads through my belly: inspiration. When my pupils dilate, my lips part and my skin tingles: excitement, curiosity. When I isolate myself on the island of my cold side of the bed: loneliness, self-induced. When my toes hit the sand touch the waves: my spirit, my home. When my throat feels closed, tight, tense: mute. Oh yes, mute is a feeling to me; not using my voice, burying myself under a mountain of each other person's expectation will be death by silence. And it will be a quiet, hurtful violence if I allow it to happen.

It is ok to feel in color, to hear so acutely, to bundle up each tiny emotion in it's own unmarked box so that I am never sure what I am pulling out of the attic of my soul. It's ok to want to fish with the egrets in the salt marsh and covet Christian Louboutins: pumps, black. It's ok to be wrong, it's ok to fight when I am right, even if that means everything around me will change. It's ok to want it all, from one opposite end of the spectrum to another.

And it's ok to be afraid, as long as that fear is an impetus. Because if I don't take my respect for the things that I love and turn them into something useful for me and the world, it will be a waste. No one can write about the heart-breakingly beautiful shades that the intercoastal can be on any given day like I can. No one can wax poetical about her love of a small beach town and live in the greatest, craziest city in the world like I can. No one can talk my particular brand of smack and use the same mouth to sooth a fussy child like I can. No one can feel people and read people and really see people like I can. I can, I only have...all I have is to try. But I know before I can do any of it I have to be without fear. I am ok with trying and failing. I am not ok with dying and never knowing.

What I have longed for is this. The words; somehow communicating the intrinsic beauty I see in the things that are special to me. I have been trying to feed the longing with other things, I have been thinking that what I ache for is him, or that thing, or this place...when really I have been aching to be me. It all makes me stupid with distraction, discouraged that I can't seem to get it right and no one seems to get it. But I am not trying to be anything but a fraction of me, a shadow of the dark, sweet, honored power that I posses. I ignore and I pretend and I smile and I hope for the best, but nothing else will mean much until I use what I have at my fingertips...my very own heart. No one can see it or judge it or measure it, only me.

My gift is me.