Tag: energy

A Time Dream

First, one dream ended. All I remember of it was that Glenn Greenwald was mentioned. Then I discussed someone’s book. No details from that remain with me. In the end, I was trying to explain what I meant but couldn’t think of a specific word. I tried writing it on a white board and wrote in lower case letters in red, ‘threat’. Standing back, I said, “That’s not what I meant to write.”

But a new dreamisode began. I was studying with others. We were a small class, five, learning in an old farmhouse. The other students and I were talking and joking when we were supposed to be studying. I picked up the book to try again. The subject was macroeconomics and my interest in learning it was low.

The teacher, a young, short white man with a black beard, entered and asked if we were ready for our exam. Other students who were younger than us approached our farmhouse. My class watched them out the window. We discovered they’d taken the same course and had already finished the exam. Not only that, but they were ahead of us on lessons.

My classmates and I were dismayed. We were expected to read several chapters, amounting to hundreds of pages, in a few days and then pass an exam on it? I laughed. “I need more time,” I said to the instructor.

“How much time?” he asked.

I laughed again. “A few years.”

Dream end.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Hallooo. Today is Tuesday, October 5, 2021. High, marbled clouds, threadbare white in major stretches, strung out over pale blues, color the sky. Sunrise barely crept into it. Giving us light but we’ve yet to see the true sun behind all of that. Came in early. 7:12 AM. But the blinds were drawn so the house was dark. Already missing that early morning light lift. Sunrise will come 6:48 PM. Temps are now at 60 F, will hit 70 F. Boy, you should see the shimmering maples showing off their dark wine coats. So lovely, but the black walnut trees counter with majestic bright yellows. Easy to get drunk on these displays.

We had a surprise reveal this week. We’re going to a local Halloween concert at the month’s end. “Sleepy Hollow ” theme. Indoors. The organization behind it has set up the orchestra and audience to be socially distanced. Audience members will wear masks the entire time. They will also be seated in pods. You can buy tickets together and sit together. Six feet between pods. And show proof of vaccination before being admitted. All band members are vaccinated, too. We have friends in the band, so we want to see them perform and support them. Although we have some trepidation, we’re going to risk it. Asked a friend if she wants to go as part of our pod.

No. She does not want to go. She went and stayed with friends in San Diego for ten days. Just returned a week ago. Didn’t mask at all doing that time. Won’t wear a mask again. she declares. Disturbing on many levels. But she’s come back and seems okay. Yet. She may be carrying but asymptomatic. She’s 82. Husband is 89. Has all manner of respiratory and health problems. Both are vaccinated but her decision and attitude surprise me. Although…hate mentioning this, but she voted for DJT. Twice.

Ah, well. We’ll continue masking and will avoid contact with them. They’re still our friends. It’s a tough balance to maintain.

To the music! John Lennon’s “(Just Like) Starting Over” (1980) is buzzing through the morning’s mental music stream. I like its do-wop aspect. Came to me because so many things we do, it’s like, here we go again. Almost feels like we’re starting over. Starting over with advantages gleaned through maturing and surviving, experiencing life, and having some financial security. But, starting over because of the energy requirements to do things. Take cleaning the house. Please. It gets dirty. Not significantly — no. Despite my wife’s declarations that, “This house is filthy,” because she views the world through polarized lenses that don’t allow for any gray, the house is never filthy. Mildly dusty, maybe. Some dirty dishes soaking in the sink sometimes. But all clothes put away. And everything tidy and orderly.

Yet, when I go in and clean the kitchen, it feels like starting over. Everything must be done again. Like starting over. It is, isn’t it? It all must be cleaned anew. The bed must be made again. Litter boxes cleaned. Car washed. Yard work done. Furniture dusted and polished. These are my things, in the main. We both load the dishwasher. Empty it. She does the hardwood floors and laundry. We both fold and put it away. We both vacuum.

Okay, now that I’ve explained our delineation of chores, are you ready for a pop quiz? No? Good, because I’m not ready to do one, either. Have none prepared.

Let’s get on with it. Stay positive as best that you can. Know it’s hard. Some days, it’s like starting over. Again. Test negative. Wear a mask as needed. Get the vaxxes and boosters. Sing and dance. Here’s the music. Where’s my coffee? Cheers

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The Porthole Dream

My late mother-in-law dominated one of my dreams last night.

I was on her ship. To my knowledge, this woman never owned a boat, never mind a large ship.

While I’d been with her, visiting, I was preparing to leave. Outside the ship, I was aware that it was heavily storming. Large waves rocked the ship. Winds howled. Sheets of rain fell from black iron skies.

I needed to go, to catch my flight, to go home. But first, well, there was the matter of my laundry. Done washing, I needed to put them into the dryer. I couldn’t open the dryer, though.

Men came to help. I gathered through conversations that they were my mother-in-law’s brothers. Appreciating the assistance, I managed to get the wet clothing into the dryer. Now I needed to get myself ready. Needed to shower and shave.

I went into the bathroom. A porthole was open. Ocean water came nearly to the porthole, terrifying me. “This should be closed,” I said to myself. I felt that I couldn’t close it without permission.

Leaving the bathroom with a backward look at the porthole, I encountered my mother-in-law in the hallway. “I was thinking, Mike.” (She’d always called Mike, her and her husband, although I went by Michael with my wife and the world.) “There’s no reason for you to go to the airport to catch your flight. You can catch it here.”

Although some part of my brain in the dream protested, I’m sorry, but we’re on a ship, that’s not possible, I said, “Are you sure? Is that possible?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“No bother at all. It’ll save you time.” She walked off, as was her habit, as she finished her comment.

“Great,” I answered, then went after her. “There’s a porthole open in my bathroom. I think it needs to be closed. The water is about to come in. We could get flooded.”

“Okay, go ahead and close it,” she replied.

Happily, I returned to the bathroom and closed the porthole. I felt much better about that.

“Your flight is almost here,” one of the brothers told me.

I wasn’t ready. “Okay,” I called back. After rushing through my shower and shaving, I dressed while hurrying out to empty my clothes from the dryer. They needed to be packed. I had my suitcase at hand. I was thinking that the flight was early. I was thinking, how can the aircraft land on ship? Was it going to land on the sea? I was thinking, how can it land in this weather? I was thinking, I want to pack my clothes neatly but I need to get them into the suitcase and get going. I was thinking, there’s so much to do, and I feel so rushed. I was thinking, maybe I shouldn’t go now.

Shirt not properly tucked in, wet hair uncombed, suitcase open, clothes half in it, I declared myself ready to go.

Dream end.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

We drove over to Medford for some errands yesterday. It’s just four Interstate exits away, less than ten miles as the Mazda rolls. While there, songs about being in a city topped my mental stream during quiet moments.

I like cities and their energy but admit, I think of them as a good place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. The city’s energy steals too much of my energy in general — it’s the people, you know. But Medford is not a large city. It’s a very comfortable experience outside of the current COVID-19 restrictions and limitations. Not bad at all, though were were there for only two hours, including the drive to and from.

Amazing number of excellent songs about cities and being in the city. An old Joe Walsh favorite percolated in. “In the City” (1979) was originally by him and put into a movie, The Warriors. Joe joined the Eagles. They liked his song and included it on their album. Now, you often hear it attributed to the Eagles.

What interests about the song is how it’s a soft reflection of the city not being a very nice place. Yet the refrain, “In the city,” is a gentle, wistful wind throughout the song. Well, that’s how I hear it in my head.

Hope you have a good one. Wear a mask, please. Cheers

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0e01KlIptcs
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Having Fun

I’m having fun with my writing these days. I usually have fun but some days become more challenging and wearying.

Not so now. Still typing with one hand so I hunt and peck across the keyboard and through the story. Six hundred words a day is usually the sum of two hours of effort. My biggest typing issue is that my finger often finds the ‘y’ when I’m seeking the ‘t’.

The characters’ voices are strong and clear. I’m infatuated with the concept. Variations on it delight me as they spool out. Abetted by slow typing, I’m taking my time developing the story and building the plot.

It’s clear to me that I’m riding toward the peak of my up and down cycles. Dreams have been empowering, inspiring, energizing, and enabling, exhorting me to be positive and to not despair. It’s a pleasure when your subconscious becomes a supporter instead of a saboteur.

Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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The Einstein Dream

Dreamed last night the people were calling me Einstein. This was done to mock me. That pissed me off.

I’d arrived at a large building. Laid out with several floors and many rooms, clutter made moving difficult, and people milling about worsened it.

Walking about, the mess irritated me. Without talking to anyone, I began deciding where things should go and moved stuff around. Noticing, others began picking things up and asking me where to put it.

Soon, everyone was helping. I directed that others create lists of where things went, and put those on the walls. Then I had similar lists made up that told each room’s contents.

Momentum created, things were running themselves when two men approached. The taller of the two said to the other, “This is the Einstein that changed everything, so ask him if you have any questions.”

His snide tone stirred WTF in me. “I’m not Einstein, I’m not smart, I just organized things.”

But the guy kept talking, calling me Einstein.

Miffed, I ignored him and continued with what I was doing. My wife and her niece arrived. I decided to declare some space as ours, and eventually came up with a large suite of empty rooms. After hustling people out and closing the doors, the three of us walked around. As I did, I warmed to the realization that I had ended up with a huge and desirable space with lots of windows and incredible views. I pointed that out to the others.

Agreeing, they shared my excitement, which is where the dream ended.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

My dreams returned last night. I awoke feeling fantastic. The air was clear and cool, and my energy was flowing like a river during the spring melt off. The perfect song for this moment, I decided, was a kick back in feeling, style, and spirit. For that, I summoned “Old Time Rock and Roll” and Bob Seger from 1978.

This ’83 live version brings it all home. Give it a listen.

 

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The Energy Dream

Antsy and restless, my wife and I awaited an event. 

We were seated in chairs outdoors, on a corner, by a dark sea. She was across from me. A sharp, blustery wind and leaden sky frequently pierced by sunshine highlighted a roiling, uneven intensity.

The mood I felt permeated a growing crowd. Roving gangs and knots of teenagers prowled, seeking outlets and distractions. I frequently looked to the horizon, waiting for the change that we feared and expected. A young woman who I vaguely knew came and sat on my lap. First she tried cajoling me into buying her a car. My wife, opposite, made snarky comments about the girl to friends. The girl annoyed me. She then tried seducing me, pushing my annoyance to the point that I removed her, and got up to walk.

The girl followed me, making comments. I decided it would be important for us to have water for what was to come and went to find some. My search brought me to a welcome center. Made mostly of clean bright white plastic, a lone, awkward appearing manned the place.

He spoke to me but I mostly ignored him. Multiple water dispensers existed but there weren’t any containers. I found a tin thing which I repurposed, then filled it. I tasted the water; it was fine. Looking at it, I discovered fine black sediment suspended in it. Pouring that water out, I cleaned the vessel, refilled it, and hurried back to the corner.

The event seemed to be beginning. We all gathered, standing to watch the ocean. A tall dark storm lit by silvery white backlight sprawled across the horizon. As a general said, “Here it comes. It’s bigger than expected,” a stern wind struck.

Although the wind rocked me back, his comments soothed me. I was happy that it was finally beginning. The general said, “It’s going to take longer to come because it’s bigger than expected.”

I was nodding because I was okay with that. Now that it was beginning, everyone relaxed and watched. Drinking crystal clear water from my tin, I waited.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music, “All My Life” by the Foo Fighters (2002), is directly related to my dream.

All my life I’ve been searching for something
Something never comes, never leads to nothing
Nothing satisfies, but I’m getting close
Closer to the prize at the end of the rope
All night long I dream of the day
When it comes around, then it’s taken away
Leaves me with the feeling that I feel the most
Feel it come to life when I see your ghost

h/t to Genius.com

The extended opening riffs, followed by Grohl’s breathy, terse delivery of those first lines, convey the dream’s edgy restlessness.

Done, done, I’m on to the next one. Love that declaration.

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The Corner of Concentration

I was just settling into place, unpacking my laptop and stuff at the coffee shop corner community table. (Saint Seata had rewarded me again — thank you, Saint Seata. Now, if the muses will cooperate (yeah, they’re even required when editing and revising.)

A young woman approached. “Are you expecting someone else or saving these seats?”

“No, join me.” I indicate the rest of the table.

“Thank you. I like working at this table.” She’s unpacking her computer as she speaks. “I get a lot of work done here and it has a plug.”

Yeah, people call it a plug, but it’s an outlet, innit? Whatever; she’s young. I reply, “Yes, I notice that people who work in this corner tend to be focused. I call it the corner of concentration.”

“The corner of concentration, I like that,” she says with laughter. “You have a good vibe. I like it.” Before I can do anything more than smile, she says, “I’m a writer.”

“What are you writing?” I ask.

“A cookbook.”

“Oh, cool.”

“It’s for women and will have recipes for women to help them manage their energy for different situations.”

“Sounds like an interesting idea. Good luck.”

“Thanks. What’re you doing in the corner of concentration?”

“I’m a writer, too.”

“Oh, what do you write?”

“I’m working on a novel.”

“Is it fiction?”

Isn’t a novel by definition a work of fiction, I don’t say, because I’m non-confrontational and I don’t want to spoil my good vibe. “Yes.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a speculative novel about life and memories.”

“Interesting. I think I want to write a novel someday.”

She goes off to get her coffee. I sit down, take my first sip, and settle in.

Time to write like crazy, one more time.

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