Taking on Water . . .

Dreams of the last nights are riddles, puzzles, mirrors, windows; if I can just decipher the code.

Four nights ago, on a windy dark road through a thick forest, no moonlight, I am driving. There is a female in the passenger seat; maybe Sara, Wendy, Susan - I don't know the woman, but I know she trusts me and she is counting on me for something. I am driving. But I am blind. I say, "I can't see yet."
"But you're eyes are open." She raises her hand to the wheel.
"Yes, but I can't see yet. I have a condition."
"A condition?" I can see her panic like a funnel cloud in the distance racing closer.
"It's okay really. I'm highly intuitive."
"What kind of condition?" she says and her voice is pitching higher than the strings.
"Delayed rotation."
"Can you see yet? Can you see the road?"
"No." I begin to doubt myself. My teeth clench and my shoulders turtle up. "But I'm on it." I swallow. "Right?"
"What is delayed rotation?"
"I open my eyes but my eyeballs are turned inward because it is my nature. Mine have become delayed. They take longer to turn out again."
"Do you know where you're going?"
Then I wake up. I open my eyes, grateful for the dark room but the grays of definition. How much do I need to see to know where I am? I walked through much of my childhood without the lights on and I'm thriving. I can walk in the dark. I can trust my feet.
Right?

Dream two:
Last night, sidewalks, trees, dark misty night, some chemical smell as if a refinery is not far, The air is dense. My thighs are loaded with lead; I'm no larger; but I cannot move. I need a machete to move through this thickness. My back bends and there is no relief and no end to the road, rolling out like a ribbon of gray taffy. There is no stopping, no resting place. There is only the hot tar road beneath the thin souled shoes and this weight. Is this how we move in the world? Is this where I have to be now. It is as if I am swimming toward a shore that recedes with every stroke. And I am not in a place that permits floating. So there is only moving, stroking, swimming.
I wake exhausted, beaten. There it is then; the thing that doesn't happen to Mary. I feel beaten. I know I am not - but right here, this night, this moment, the vessel is swamped and taking on water.

There comes a time . . .

At one point or another most of my children's generation contemplate or get a tattoo. My daughter, Sara, chose her 18th birthday to get one. My son, Dylan, has been talking about the one he wanted for over a year; one of his own design and meaningful to him; individual.

I shared with him that I believed the strongest statement he could make with his skin would be to be one of the very few of his generation who turned around at 35 or 40 years of age and did not have a tattoo or piercing; that who he is should speak so confidently that no mark or sign would better represent him.

He disagreed. He was determined and had decided he would get a tattoo when he was 18. So, I decided I would scope out local tattoo parlors, try to determine the cleanest, safest, and most talented ink artists. Once an 18 year old "child" decides a course of action, it seems the best alternative is to participate and guard and guide as much as they will permit. I was impressed with Dragon Moon Tattoo in Glen Burnie. They refused to tattoo Dylan prior to his 18th birthday. They check ID. They use the most recent and thorough of sterilizing devices for their needles and their ink! So here is Dylan, my Beamish boy, my brilliant son, bearing the ink that defines him, for today anyway. It is possible that this may be the ironic highlight that defines this part of his life.

Psyche's Dream

Psyche's Dream

As Psyche, the most
beautiful of mortals,
sleeps among the
flowers, she dreams
of beholding the
perfect face of
Eros, her lover.
Having found true love
in each other,
they float down the
river of life forever.

What resonates for me is that Psyche is dreaming, floating. It is very much how I move through any given day -- seeing the endless potential, the potential, the portent of the curve of the moment.

Hope on Fire

Sometimes our lives ignite.
Like tonight.
There is the personal and
the global.
First - I am unwilling -
but you knew that -
to ask for help, to be less
than my whole life - to do less
than breathe fire.
If not now - when?

We knew this moment - we smiled all this day - we were jubilant at the poll place - we danced in the streets - we were gleeful - we knew.

Now, harness the faith in your own desire, your own perfection, your own "everything." There is no need to compromise in your self. Celebrate - and then get to work. As my grandfather always said, "Life is work. Love your work."
Thanks, Pop-pop.

Don't Vote

I remember when the school system made a move to ban books by Stephen King. He was thrilled. He told them to go ahead; ban his books; remove them from the library. He smiled that crooked, wicked little smile and said, "Ban them and your children will seek them out, find them, and huddle beneath the covers with a flashlight and read them in the dark of night."

So I say to you, "Don't vote." It won't make any difference. Besides you haven't done enough research, and they are calling for rain later. Why don't you at least wait until after you get off work. Put it off. After all, you are just one person. How much could it possibly matter.

So stay home. Don't vote.

Haunted by Tail Lights

She doesn't stand at the door.
She doesn't watch people drive away.
She's not haunted by tail lights
trailing off down the dark country road
under a half-moon, neither waning or waxing.

She doesn't hold on too long.
She doesn't want the off-balance
of the early release, the tumble
seeking gravity. When she turns,
she just keeps going; no need to
check over her shoulder; rather use her
resources to shield the glare of the sun
streaming into her eyes.