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In my spinning world of dreams and wakefulness, blogging and memory and living in the present, caught up in an avalanche where one is the other is the other with no time stamp and sometimes nothing to separate this from that, it used to be difficult to make sense of things. The first tool in my bag was procrastination. How I came to that tool I cannot say. My guess is from my... one-time association with Zen, a lesser teaching of God's wisdom as I see things now, but still. Something about, if all else fails... "just be". If I am angry, depressed, interested, curious, hungry, or any of the seemingly endless things a mortal coil can be, this tool served me well in my condition. Don't act, in other words, without taking some time to consider the action, the reason for the action, the good of the action. Of course, time for me is quite different from the notion of time for you. You have work, deadlines, a demanding partner, perhaps children, pets too, a garden maybe, and books and blogs to read and comment at. Me? I have... a mortal form of infinity.
While it certainly slows life down it also prevented many mistakes. My surety, I had decided, was not enough. I could not act just because I believed, wanted, felt, or even "knew". And good thing. Many things I knew, and even know now, prove to be wrong. This is part of why I claim to be a know nothing. No matter how much information I have, from experience, from reading, from any other source, the truth is I can't actually know. Not about them, those, this, you, or even me.
It took between ten and fifteen years of illness before I could slow things down and sort things out, well, actually that isn't even true. The time period is right, but I never did learn to slow things. I simply learned to... trust what I was sensing and learned how to navigate in that tornado. While my life seems to drop to less than a snails pace, my mind does not slow. It is similar to driving a car fast at night, so fast that headlights become nearly useless. Only I can't control the speed or increase the light, it simply is. It is no wonder I became a plaything for psychologists. I simply wanted to either learn to handle the speed as it was or to slow down, even adding brighter lights might have helped. The major rift is that my body is doing what it does and my mind continued as if my body was still in alignment. I have never figured out a way to correct that. Further, I think my mind sped up, either because the body couldn't use the resources so my mind did, or to try to compensate much as a driver might step on the accelerator if starting to lose traction in certain situations. Speed can correct for mistakes or equipment weaknesses.
Oh, but life has changed so much and yet so little. Life is still a blur. It is difficult to even explain this. Think of some of your most convoluted dreams, with blurry images, fast sequences that you can only get a glimpse of what is happening, fear from just not being in any kind of control or even being able to be fully aware. And yet I have learned to balance this. I think I almost write well, despite the confusion.
Dinner arrived tonight. I had set the alarm for 17:00 to freshen me. Dinner didn't arrive until 19:30 though (a typical time albeit). I heard the doorbell, jumped up, got set to answer the door properly, grabbed my cap, and... No one there. But I did see their minivan about a block and a half down the road. Yeah, so there can be a time delay in waking. It still seems so weird though. I could have sworn I got out of bed immediately after hearing the doorbell. That adds to the "know nothing" approach, among many other things. I did call to let them know that I was up... and hungry. Glad I did, too. Dinner was quite good and I have become Pavlovian with the dinner bell at that time of night! *drool* All good, I like to drool. Ha!
Dreams. Two nights ago I dreamed of a cousin, second cousin really. She honestly believes she is equal to men despite so many facts, even in her own life. I have discussed her before. But in this dream I learned why, if the dream is to be believed of course. Her father only had one son, the eldest I think, and a disappointment as fathers may think such things. Young men, perhaps always?, are feminized... by their lack of testosterone to start out, by school, by their mother, in some cases by having too many sisters, and for many other reasons (hence no constitutional vote until men were 25). So the father chose the strongest, most willful, daughter to fulfill his want of a strong child, son really. He developed her, coached her, pushed her, prodded her, filled the family with his notions and egalitarian notions so as to further his wishes. He talked her into wrestling, against boys. Of course, that was a failure. But having the money, other means, wilfulness, and influence, he got her onto steroids. She became competitive. He imbued her with his will and she became a manling. Of course, it all failed ultimately and remains so today.
The real results? While she wrestled she looked... quite butch. But when she left that, and ended the drugs, she returned to being a quite attractive young lady. She joined the service, but after just a few years she was disabled due to a shoulder injury, most likely from wrestling and steroids, not the service, though. Still, the service pays her disability. Then she met a strong man, like herself she thought. My guess is she contested him as if she was still a wrestler. He was strong, and unforgiving. She cried foul, divorced, and is in some feminist limbo world now, not knowing how to be a woman, or what a woman is. Yes. And she confronted me. I just told her that if she could not face, in full combat, a mostly dead old man, that she had no face to save, and could certainly not call herself even my equal no matter how superior she might be in her thoughts. But that this was fine, for a woman. That is not her place. Although I saw her father seethe with rage. He came forward to confront me. I suggested to him that he was more like his daughter, which is why she failed. He had best know his place too. He is a black belt, some sash or other, in Karate. I suggested that would only make him strong enough that I could not simply defeat him, but that by the time he realized he had sorely lost, he would be dead or mortally wounded. He... backed down, knowing the truth of my words.
Last night I dreamed of a neighbor girl. Oh, too young. But she so... reminds me of my first real love. A love I never took as a lover. I shattered the thing from my past rather than... do what most do. We were too young. She was too innocent. I had things to know, learn, decide, do. I spoke with this neighborly young woman and left her with some challenges. Oh, she is the perfect wife material. Unfortunately for her, the boys she should... be interested in are just that. They, too, have things to do, decide, learn, know. And more, the economy makes it so that they will have a very difficult time feeding their own faces, let alone that of a wife and child, children. In another time, or even in some time to come, such a woman would or will... be the one. It is frustrating to see prime material when you cannot, maybe shouldn't, or have reasons not to, simply reach out and grab it. No, not taking of flesh. In the presence of ripe fruit, as in the Garden of Eden, it is never an issue of force, only certainty. When the fruit is ripe it separates from the tree by merely touching. You know this, even today, if you have ever picked ripe fruit from a tree.
Such dreams, coated with real memories, fitting in with the blur that is life for me. It... makes for a magical reality. I do wonder, however, what others think of what I write here? Do you see mere fantasy, aspects of that, insanity, or a reasonable form of reality. I have no road signs, I have no breaks or brighter lights to use on my road. I have no real means of testing my thoughts, and professional psychology is so broken it couldn't tell if IT'S thumb was up it's own ass, let alone if mine is. And worse, even if it thought mine was, it wouldn't tell me. It would just send my profile to the FBI! So... what do you see hereabouts?
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