Tag Archives: dreams

Caffiene Induced Mental Labors:

Standard
Caffiene Induced Mental Labors:

The coffee shop is bustling with the typical faces one would see especially in a city such as this. The busy little shop is full of chatty voices minus my own. The absorbent crowd flows like a living creature – a spiritual combination of souls seeking an unanswerable question, but in the meantime, they swell their bellies with lattes and benign conversations. I am unsure why I wandered into this establishment. Perhaps there is a certain familiarity in the sea of ever-changing faces; a comfort in not truly recognizing any of them – a security.

Why do I feel safe among strangers?

The unease of their throbbing presence puts to rest personal anxieties and for a moment, I am capable of becoming anyone. There is the sudden realization that I am now a character in a novel that is unfolding. I am the heroine that breaks the molds and sits in solitary contemplation at a table in an unfamiliar coffee shop in a strange city awaiting a particular creature to approach in order for her story to truly take off. For what is a story if it is lacking an equally unique hero to defy the odds and break the barriers of prescribed behavioral decorum? I realize then that I need someone to enter my life who, like an alien on an adventure, recognizes something unusual in me that must be explained and thusly approaches my table to ask that unanswerable question that would connect our souls in a defining moment considered a spark of love. But love is a silly notion because it lends itself towards acquiring flame too quickly and ardently and so fizzles at the nearest contact of ice. I rather seek a budding friendship into which would bloom an un-ending affection. The word affection assumes the role of care, and in the end, that is all I can hope for in the truest relationship- someone to care. Because love does not always need to care in order to be felt. With caring comes the understanding that feeling is not always quite necessary to endure.

My alien would understand this. His subconscious culture will have birthed him into such knowledge and it is there – in the subconscious – where we will meet and no longer be alien and subject but partners on the most sublime level. There are levels to human interactions and as of yet, I have found not one fellow creature that has dug to the level of subconscious yearning I discover within my own person. Now, are we, as creatures of base nature, capable of exploring and discovering every level that comprises our personal humanity or that of another? If we are not, then I must consign myself to a fate of celibacy. Love will not be in my cards if this proves true. More than everything I crave in this life, it would be this connection with an alien on every level that makes us individuals for in an individual is the empty slot awaiting the portion of another to fulfill and bring a soul toward completion. I fear reaching “wholeness” without someone to share in my accomplishment. Those who claim to have reached completion of self must not need what I need, or they have learned some secret of the universe that I have not. Secretly, I envy them. But I know that their happiness would never leave me content. Is being content even possible? Is wholeness attainable? Is attraction always satisfied to begin on the surface? It is these questions that I would ask my partner, and he would answer me in the best way because it would not be the answers themselves that I would want but just his voice caring enough to attempt to satisfy my childish curiosities of the surrounding world.

Advertisements

It’s Bedtime

Standard
It’s Bedtime

I love to sleep. I mean, I really do. I love taking naps. I love sleeping in till mid-late morning. I love how the pillow conforms to my head and the fleece blanket is light but warm enough to keep my cozy. My bed is definitely a sanctuary. In fact, my room when ten o’clock to eleven o’clock rolls around transforms into a separate world from the rest of the planet. I like to think of my bedroom as a space ship having crash landed on an alien planet, and inside this space is all my necessary elements for personal survival. I have my collection of note books and journals, my easel and oils, my candles and fragrances and my posters. I have my computer here where I do the majority of my writing and anti-social activities like play an addicting game on facebook. I do not really like to admit that I play a hidden-pictures game, but I do and find it extremely relaxing. I refuse to let it rule my life currently, but tomorrow is a new day after all. Anyways, I did not want to get into that. You should know that I love to sleep. Perhaps it is more than just the need for rest that compels me to sleep as much as I do. Honestly, I think that I sleep because I love to dream, and my dreams end up as the fodder for many poems and stories that I write.

I had a dream the other day that involved my friends, but for the life of me, I can’t remember any of the details. Isn’t that the most frustrating thing in the world? As a human, I marvel at the functionality of our brains, but it totally baffles me how I can have this killer dream that I KNOW would be the perfect story or poem or painting, but when I wake up and return to the world of the living, the dream has melted and not even a lingering whisper of what it was is left behind in my conscious mind. Perhaps it is suspended somewhere in my subconscious like a bowl of whipped cream with cherries buried in it that requires a decent spoon to dig them out. I don’t fancy the idea of someone scooping out my subconscious with a spoon, however, so I can resign myself to be satisfied with the dreams I do remember and not let frustrations rule my perspectives.

For a large majority of people, I have come to understand that 11:30-Midnight is not very late, but for me, I feel like a zombie currently in search of a comfy grave to rest my restless bones. I wanted to write a long post about sleeping and dreaming, and instead have fallen away from that goal to tell you about how sleepy I currently am. Is this an example of blogging in the moment? I don’t know. All I know is that the pile of crumpled up blankets and disfigured pillows on my bed is singing a lullaby that makes my fingers heavy and my eyeballs droop. The honeycomb candle flickering on my desk and causing shadows dance for me along the walls is lulling me to sleep as well. So, dearies, I think it is time for me to say goodnight and wish for you most pleasant dreams (that you can remember in the morning), and sign off for the day. I need to plug in my brain charger.