Dreams
- Bluebelle, Books, Church Life, Daily Life, Dixee, Dreams, Jinx, Mrs. Orr, Music, Photographs, Quotations, Reflections
Royal Pains
It’s raining softly here today, and the valley is quiet except for the protestations of cows who are methodically being separated from their calves. We love the rain and the clouds, but there is an uncharacteristic sad feeling in the very air. And time is passing much too quickly. There is some Alanis-level irony in the fact that the squash we so carefully planted in the garden has done poorly, but one lone “volunteer” plant that sprang up, probably because of a bird depositing a seed, in a bed of shrubs bordering the back porch. This one unintentional plant has provided enough good squash for several meals so far, and…
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She Dreams
As I read, my arm is draped across Bluebelle, who snores. Just now, while scanning some lines by Ezra Pound, I felt her muscles beneath my forearm bunch and twitch. Her breathing quickened like an engine starting to rev. Her breath funnels down into groans, then tiny yips, and a tide rushes across the surface of her warm body just beneath the brindled fur; she dreams now. And I, pater lacking perception, cannot tell. I cannot tell if her dream is a bad one or joyous. Is she fleeing some foe, or chasing a rabbit…or her own multihued tail? And even if I could stroke her small arena of a…
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Of Infinite Space
This flu or virus or whatever it is continues its unwelcome visit within me. I went to bed earlier than usual last night, weary and feeling the congestion in my chest and head like a double ferris wheel, spinning and changing position, rumble and roar, chest and head, rumble and roar. I had been thinking all day of my mother, and the last thought I had before I slipped down into sleep was to wonder whether Mother’s spirit is ever near me, if she ever tries to contact me or watch over me. An odd thought, and I soon left it and all thoughts and entered that nightly place of…
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Before Winter’s Solstice
Early this morning, I dreamed I was standing at my mother’s grave, down there in the flat delta where the cotton fields stretch like bolts of corduroy for monotonous miles. In my dream, I wanted to say some words to Mother, because I knew that she would be able to hear and understand me, but I could not bring myself to speak. There were leaves blown against her little tombstone with the hummingbird carved into its sleek surface, and they seemed to be telling me that it was all gone, my life and difficult relationship with that haunted little woman, that no matter what I might say to her, none…
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A Choir of Seabirds
The cold here is deep and milky, with probing fingers and breath on the back of my neck. The quiet has settled in at our little farm, and the flames are waltzing behind the glass in the stove, and I, I alone, am awake in this room, this room lit only by those flames. When I arrived at work, my crows were standing in a line so straight, they looked like decorations in a shop. They burbled at me in soft voices as I walked past them, sprinkling crackers across the striped and oil-stained asphalt. Later, when I came out to sit in the back seat and eat my lunch…
- Church Life, Daily Life, Dreams, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Lectio Divina, Prayers, Quotations, Reflections
Despair, Sleep, and Heavenly Mother
Bruce Charlton has posted a really good essay over at his blog, one of those posts that stopped me in my tracks. I commend it to you. I’ll include here the checklist Bruce wrote to assist in spiritual re-encouragement, and then a couple of thoughts. 1. Reality is ultimately created by God – and continually being-created by God; and I participate in this creation (as a sub-creator) insofar as the world is understandable to me. I look around and remind myself of this. 2. The world is Not dead, mechanical or random; the world is alive and conscious: this is a world of beings. Every ‘thing’ is actually a being, or part…
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Rarity of Recall
This morning, just before waking, I had a short but vivid dream. The dream was notable because I was able to recall it. I’ve long envied people like my friend WJT and my beloved wife, people who can remember their dreams in meticulous detail. I probably remember one or two dreams per year, and even then only fragments are available to me, and the fragments fade so quickly that I can’t retrieve them after a few days or sometimes even after a few hours. That’s why I thought I would record what I can recall of this morning’s dream: to prevent the complete decay, and for my own future reference.…
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Tuesday In Holy Week
My sister sent me happy news, an announcement that my nephew, her youngest child, will be getting married next month. She reports that he and his betrothed are happy with each other and ready to take this step. While I am genuinely happy for my nephew, I have mixed feelings about the situation. The world is different, as it always is, age to age. Marriage doesn’t mean what it once did, and among young people it seems to have taken on an aspect of gladiatorial combat. And the watching world is either ho-hum or avidly watching with gleaming eyes, not wanting to miss a single extraction of pain. I pray…
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Quickly Forgotten
“That is a blessing of bad dreams, they are quickly forgotten.” ― Joyce Carol Oates I was awakened this morning by my wife, who was calling to me and telling me to wake up. Her voice came to me as if from very far away, and I was fighting, kicking my way to the surface, out of the blackness of sleep and the frightening dream that was trying to pull me back down. I had been trying to awaken myself for what seemed like an hour, trying to yell and startle myself into the waking world, but only able to manage a thin whimper. As soon as my wife heard me,…
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Waiting
So many people I know have told me that the current dismal situation has affected them in unmistakable ways. One of the most common things I hear is that an air of depression-while-waiting-for-the-shoe-to-drop has settled down upon them. A sense of “Why bother?” A feeling of “I don’t want to undertake anything substantial right now because….who knows what’s coming?” A nihilistic bleakness, a sneering cynicism, a crisis-choked standstill period of time that seems like a Pink Floyd lyric come to life. It does feel that way, doesn’t it? And it’s easy, oh, so easy, to get caught up in that sort of feeling, and let it start calling the…