The Watery Dream

I’ll not include all the dream’s tedious details, instead focusing on the few scenes, person, and essence that cling to my memory. 

Roger/Ronnie was there. Twins, they were my wife’s cousins. Born in Ohio, they adopted Georgia as their home, shooting as their mantra, and Fox News as their information source. They loved playing at being good ol’ boys.

Since I couldn’t tell them apart, one of them was in the dream. In the dream, there was trench full of muddy, milky water flowing through the middle of the house. We all accepted it as normal that it was there. The house itself was busy with people and activities but nothing that seemed significant. I could be wrong.

I went down to lower level in the house. It stank down there. I traced the smell to another body of water coming in through a trench in a wall. After more investigation, I figured that the upstairs water was emptying in such a way that it was sloshing back up this trench and into the house, where it pooled and stagnated.

Once I understood the cause, I went back upstairs. I knew something needed to be done about it and that I couldn’t do it alone. I needed help.

Here, I pause. I explained and showed people, mostly men, the stagnant water. I think I explained it to my late father-in-law. Mostly, though, I explained it to strangers, and Roger or Ronnie.

With Roger/Ronnie, they came in, took a deep breath and said, “Something stinks.” I told them about the water, and then showed it to them. They said, “You’re right.” I said, “We need to so something about that.” They said, “You’re right,” with a big grin, “but I can’t. I don’t have the time.” Feeling exasperated by that point, I decided that I was the only one that understood and cared, and that I would need to do something about it.

The dream ended.

I feel like my dream is addressing my restlessness and frustration. It’s bothering me multiple levels, and I understand exactly what it is.


New Balance


I always notice myself and the things happening to my body – mind – spirit – energy – writing – relationships, and think, aha, revelation! They’re revelations to me but might be nothing to others. Others noticed their revelation long ago and shrugged it away, or quietly and simply absorbed it without scrawling to the world, revelation! But I always think, I’m onto something, and want to share it, because I am.

Revelations happen a lot when I’m on the upper end of my spectrum, and right now, all aspects seem to be approaching zenith, meaning, I’m happy, I’m noticing a lot and have huge energy reserves, and I have lots of patience, and voluminous, dramatic dreams. Really.

Today’s revelation came during calf dips. I liked doing these up and down movements while balancing on the edge of a stair and not using my hands to hold myself up. Oddly (perhaps others have insights about this and will say, no, not oddly), but oddly for me, I’m better at this if I used the twenty pound weights while doing this.

Anyway, while doing these today, I realized as I rose and dropped and adjusted my balance, that various small balance centers were in play and being felt. I loved learning that. It synchronized with a greater observation about how I set myself up to fail. I set myself up to fail by creating huge expectations and hopes for success. Then, naturally, I don’t achieve what I want as fast as I want it. But, aha – revelation – using small and separate adjustments made the exercise work more smoothly. Thus, I should set smaller goals, employ small adjustments and make small changes.

I did learn that a long time ago when editing and revising. Big changes are very dangerous and can spin wildly out of control. I use a lot of caution now while editing and revising, tasking myself to read the entire document and see it as a whole before attempting large changes. Then I don my critical reader hat and ask, if I was critiquing this for another writer, exactly how would I state my problems with that work?

Naturally, there’s a bifurcation of thought in me about making small changes. My desire for the big reach stretches along on my emotional and physical spectrums. Emotionally, that doesn’t surprise me. Success appeals to my emotional side. Failure is felt emotionally. Physically, physical conditioning has always been structured in me to try harder, go further, do more and stretch yourself, to achieve the best gains.

Over on the intellectual and spiritual sides, I’m much more measured, and very accepting of small steps and minute adjustments. While the emotional and physical spectrums do not accept any backward steps well, the spiritual and intellectual sides will counsel, even a backward step is a learning opportunity. It’s like my emotional/physical sides are petulant toddlers, and my spiritual side is a zen master, while the intellectual aspect is a patient mentor.

It’s great when they all work together. Today, they do, so I observe, recall and apply once again a simple lesson, take small steps to achieve balance, reach your goals, and realize your dreams, Michael. Fortunately, the writer in me seems able to embrace and be on all four spectrums somewhat evenly.

Time to write like crazy, one more time.


Tsk. I’d forgotten about the reset button.

I knew I had one. Every human has a reset button but I think most of us find using our reset button is like using ice cubes as charcoal briquettes. Speaking for myself, the biggest problem with my reset button is that it’s not clearly marked and easily reached. Be wonderlicious if my reset button was labeled to my navel’s left, “Press here to reset.” I’d even deal with it if I had to reach down on my bottom and thread a straightened paper clip into a tiny hole to find and press a minuscule button. But my reset button isn’t that easy.

Yet (sigh) a reset was indicated. The computers are freezing me out. I’m like a cave man, except I’m hairier, live in a house, don’t hunt, gather food at stores and markets, wear shoes, have electronic fun stuff and the electricity for them, and I don’t drive as well as a cave man. I’m reduced to not writing or writing in notebooks. I decided not to write in notebooks, except for notes, as the muses intended.

But it’s a painful withdrawal, not to sit and back space and click across a keyboard. Scenes bloom like red algae in my head. I tell myself, “Remember this to write later.” But my brain is an express lane. Only five items are permitted. Putting in notes to remember to write later bumps out my name, address and telephone number. Once they’re gone, matters like other people’s names and where I’m going have as much chance as an ice cube on a hot grill.

Took several days to remember the reset button. I owe it to Amazon. Entertaining myself, I watched a show, “All or Nothing,” about the Arizona Cardinals and their efforts to win the NFL championship. Someone made a big boo boo on the field and another player encouraged him, “Hey, that’s done. Reset.”

Yes, reset. Drop those past frustrations, errors and irritations like soiled underwear. Forgive and forget what I would normally be doing (writing) if my computer was here and working (sob). It’ll be back in two weeks, so reset.

Yes, reset. One lesson I once learned a dozen forty times is that vacuums don’t work for us as humans except when we can apply that technology to suck shit up. So I set to mind sucking that shit up and out. The other thing is that it’s not enough to proclaim that I’m resetting, dumping negative energy and going forward with a glowing positive aura. No,the things that provide me that delicious negative energy that I feast on must not only be rejected but needs to be replaced. See, that’s where the vacuum thingy comes in. Dumping the negative stuff creates a vacuum. See? Follow? Create a vision for going forward, I tells myself, as I’ve tolds myself eleven million and eleven times to the power of eleven before. That’ll bring in positive stuff to replace that negative stuff.

So, yarp, here I go again, on another day, hitting the reset button like it’s my existence’s snooze button. Let’s do this.

But first, some coffee.

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