I am a mushroom
Cozy in my own home.
Vibing towards the center of my universe.
Space was not created in a container
Nor was day made in the light.
I find myself all over
Though I'm not sure where I am.
But I am a mushroom.
That's right I am I am I am.
I've got no cover for bad weather
And can offer you no hand.
My knees don't bend for praying
I'm taken by the land.
I come as I be.
Welcome home, world!
thanks, elisia.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Mare in the Night
Gave myself a nightmare last night. It was pretty interesting.
I was in the sweet spot right between wakefulness and sleep where the strangest things tend to happen. I couldn't tell whether I was awake or asleep because I was dreaming about the room I was sleeping in.
I turned to lay on my right side, bruised from sleeping on so many floors lately, and I saw my backpack. I watched it slowly morph into Barry (?) sitting curled on the floor, wearing all black in his silly floppy hat. When I looked closer, I saw that it was an old dusty skeleton in Barry's clothes, who then turned his head slowly and reached out to grab my wrist. At this point, I realized I was dreaming, but my body took a few seconds to catch up to my mind. I was paralyzed, unable to breathe, filled with a poisonous feeling of dread, until I finally regained control of my limbs. I sat up and breathed in deeply, clearing the dread from my stomach and replacing it with an amused sense of relief. I pushed my backpack a few feet away for good measure.
This image should have been hilarious. Such a strange thing to dream about. But nightmares aren't about what we actually see, it's about the horrid feeling that accompanies our dreams. In some sense, it seems that if nightmares were simply about content, most of my dreams would be nightmares. Knowing a person is my sister while looking nothing like her should be terrifying. I think it's great that not only do we create images in our sleep, but we also create sentiments and emotions to accompany the strangeness that happens each night.
How different is this from the waking world?
I was in the sweet spot right between wakefulness and sleep where the strangest things tend to happen. I couldn't tell whether I was awake or asleep because I was dreaming about the room I was sleeping in.
I turned to lay on my right side, bruised from sleeping on so many floors lately, and I saw my backpack. I watched it slowly morph into Barry (?) sitting curled on the floor, wearing all black in his silly floppy hat. When I looked closer, I saw that it was an old dusty skeleton in Barry's clothes, who then turned his head slowly and reached out to grab my wrist. At this point, I realized I was dreaming, but my body took a few seconds to catch up to my mind. I was paralyzed, unable to breathe, filled with a poisonous feeling of dread, until I finally regained control of my limbs. I sat up and breathed in deeply, clearing the dread from my stomach and replacing it with an amused sense of relief. I pushed my backpack a few feet away for good measure.
This image should have been hilarious. Such a strange thing to dream about. But nightmares aren't about what we actually see, it's about the horrid feeling that accompanies our dreams. In some sense, it seems that if nightmares were simply about content, most of my dreams would be nightmares. Knowing a person is my sister while looking nothing like her should be terrifying. I think it's great that not only do we create images in our sleep, but we also create sentiments and emotions to accompany the strangeness that happens each night.
How different is this from the waking world?
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