Woke Up Screaming

So, this blog is rapidly becoming an online dream journal, but I suppose that’s to be expected: my actual life isn’t all that exciting.

Today’s, and by that I mean last night’s installment has been freaking me out all day. I’m in some sort of haunted house, and I know it’s haunted because the ghost is making the lights flicker on and off. I notice this and decide to leave, but the door keeps getting farther away. Somehow, I become aware of the fact that I’m dreaming and snap my fingers to change the dreamscape. However, I end up still in a long hallway, and the door is even farther away, now. I repeat the dream shift process multiple times, each time increasing the distance between me and the door. Finally, the end is within sight. I’m huffing and gasping for air, and right before I reach the exit, some people in what look like security uniforms close the door on me. I reach out to push it open, only to realize that my hand is wrinkled and withered. Then I see my reflection in the door; that of a haggard, wrinkled, balding old man. I scream and collapse to the ground in shock. The guards grab me and start dragging me backwards. I’m still struggling to breathe, but also sobbing and begging them to let me go.

It was then that I woke up. Not gonna lie, I checked my hands to see whether they looked old and wrinkly.

I have a friend at work who is on the downhill side of middle-age, and is being evicted from his home and forced to resign his job of over 15 years. After multiple failed attempts to find a better job myself recently, I find myself wondering if I, too, will be left working my dead-end drudgery until my winter years.

Resistance Part IV

It has been several years since I had this dream, so forgive me, dear reader, if the description is limited and somewhat vague. I honestly thought I had already written this one down, but I’m searching through my previous posts I found I had not.

Part IV: Necessary Evil

I am a prisoner of the oppressive regime. (Whether or not this is the same dictatorial regime as the previous dreams is uncertain, but not implausible.) I am kept in a small cell, regularly interrogated, and subject to excruciating torture.

At least that’s what it sounds like outside. In fact, my jailer is a double-agent who uses me to slip information back and forth with other informants. The torture, which is only mostly fake, covers the conversations we have trading secrets to bring down the system.

I haven’t yet seen if our efforts at subversion were successful, and I have no idea how long I was in prison, but I believe that it is for the best. Perhaps someday I’ll see the end of this dream. Or perhaps the events which brought it into my mind have been bypassed and that situation will never arise. Either way, it would be nice to get out of the torture chambers.

Apathyosis

Those of you who know me, know that I’m not normally the kind of person who reads divine intent into ordinary happenings. That is to say, when I see something cool or interesting, I don’t immediately assume ‘God did it.’

That being said, I couldn’t help but feel like I saw some evidence of the divine at work the other day. My place of employment is frequently rented out as a wedding venue, and I was there minding the facilities. For starters; the weather was unpredictably cooperative. The forecast was for rain, starting exactly at the time of the ceremony, but it held off until well into the reception.

Around the time all of the guests were being seated for dinner, I found myself in our old State House building watching the fireplace. At the exact moment the MC introduced the bride and groom, there was a sudden shifting of the logs in the fireplace and a massive blossom of sparks soared up the chimney.

It has been said that “happy is the bride who is rained upon.” One theory on the origin of this expression is that Thor, god of thunder, is also the god of the hearth and home and rain was his blessing on the union. I think, between the rain and the hearth, I got a chance to witness a marriage personally blessed by Thor.

Agreeing to Disagree Part I

It’s half-past midnight in my time zone right now, so this should be a short post. 

My friends and I recently started re watching one of my favorite old tv shows. Like most science fiction shows, it occasionally gets political, and that’s dangerous for a tv show because politics can be an incredibly divisive subject. This show, however, has managed to toe a finite and laudable line, particularly as pertains to multiculturalism and the interactions of differing groups within a larger society. The twitter-friendly version of their overall stance can best be boiled-down to “You can have your identity, and so can they.” 

I find this to be a wonderful philosophy, personally. It confers neither obligation nor moral superiority; in essence, there’s none of the who’s-better-than-who, or ‘we should be like them/they should be like us’ bullshit. Your ancestry, your traditions, your heritage is yours; and you neither have the right to claim or usurp anyone else’s, nor the obligation to be subordinate to them. 

‘Different’ does not automatically mean ‘better’ or ‘worse.’ 

More on this concept when I’m not half-asleep.

Hurry Up and Wait

On the list of love/hate aspects of my job, this one’s pretty near the top: this annoying habit that has developed lately among my superiors of sending me somewhere–without instructions–and making me wait for them to show up and explain what I’m supposed to do. On the one hand, this leaves me time to think and catch my breath; but on the other hand, it also sets me up to get yelled at when things aren’t finished before a certain time, nevermind that said task could not have been completed within the time remaining.
I’m not posting this expecting any changes or even a significant amount of sympathy, since I’m sure most of you put up with similar situations in your lives. Mostly it’s just nice to able to vent.

Gathering Moss

I’ve been away for a while.

It can be hard to feel as though one has anything worthwhile to say when one does more-or-less the same few things day after day. Today, however, is a day worthy of note and reflection. A friend of mine will be leaving us, soon. Don’t panic: he’s not dying, just moving to a new home and a new job. In light of that, I’ve been thinking more about my own situation. 

I’ve tried a few times in the last few years to find a better-paid, differently-stressful job. (I honestly don’t believe that truly stress-free work environments exist.) As yet, I have had little success, though that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. But I do wonder if I’m limiting myself too much. The jobs I have searched for have been under the same umbrella of employers where I currently find myself, I the hopes that I can stay in a system that stands to benefit me at a time years from now. I have only occasionally sent applications because, truth-be-told, jobs in this system that interest me are somewhat few and far between. There are other careers out there that hold a higher appeal, but that would mean leaving the system and abandoning any progress I’ve made towards retirement benefits. I am not yet ready to lose the safety net, I think, especially given that I intend to soon enter the world of home-ownership and face the demon Mortgage that dwells therein. 

I have to congratulate my friend, though I shall do it anonymously, for pursuing his career and his dreams. It takes courage and Will to step away from home, friends, and familiarity and try something new. I wish you the very best, good sir, as you go to your new home and a fresh start.

I have heard it said that a rolling stone gathers no moss, and lately I can’t help but feel burried under quite a layer of the stuff. It won’t last, though. I can feel a change in scenery coming, like footsteps through the ground. It’s distant, elusive, but coming closer. 

Thoughts From A Dark Empty Room

First and foremost: DEATH TO 2016! This has truly been one for the history books, and not in a good way. But most of you already know that: you’ve lived it. 

This year, for the new year, I’d like to share a little secret. 

People have asked me off and on over the years why I spend so much time alone. Why do I go off by myself at parties, why did I always hug the wall at school dances and social functions, etc. And the answer is fairly simple: it’s easier–and that is to say, less painful–to be alone in an empty place than to be alone in a crowd.

Now don’t get me wrong: I love my friends and I really enjoy spending time with them. Just this evening, I walked into a house full of friends I haven’t seen in ages and I talked, laughed, hugged, and genuinely had a good time. 

For about ten minutes.

Currently, however, I find myself sitting on the floor beside the locked door of a dark, otherwise empty room. Am I happier here? Not really. But it’s hard to keep smiling downstairs where the party is: hard to be happy when every direction I turn I see another reminder of how alone I feel. I can still hear the party through the floor, and take some comfort in the fact that I can go back at a time of my choosing.

I just can’t lose myself in the party atmosphere the way I used to. (I’ve tried drinking, and I wish I could forget the rest of that night.) I feel like I’m broken, sometimes; like there’s a socialization mechanism that most people are born with, but I somehow missed out on. And sure some people will say, “just go with it,” but what do you do when you don’t know how? 

What do you do when all you see is the empty space around you? When you miss all the jokes, and you don’t know any of the stories? What do you do when, in spite of everyone’s best efforts, (and I give my friends all the kudos in the world, here), you still feel left out? 

Well, if you’re me, you find a dark, otherwise empty room and sit there feeling numb for a while and wait until it passes. Sometimes it takes an hour, or five minutes, or all night. Sooner or later, though, I’ll leave this room. But, for now, it’s easier to be all alone in the night than all alone in a crowd. 

Good night, folks. And Happy New Year, 2017.

Facing the Darkness

The following is an excerpt from an entrance essay I wrote to a nearby college a while ago. Enjoy.

There is an inescapable truth to the world in which we live: every person that is born must also die. But it is neither the situation of our birth, nor the circumstances of our death which make us who we are; it is the manner and quality in which we live our lives that defines us.

Unfortunately, it is also true that the manner in which one lives, whether it be righteous, wrongful, or indifferent, does not always translate into the quality of life which one enjoys. There are those who govern their lives by a strict moral code, and appear to reap all of life’s rewards as payment. We call them the Blessed. There are those who live wrongfully, and cheat their fellows, yet appear to reap equal reward regardless. We call them the Corrupt. There are those who abdicate virtue, and appear to be punished with misery and deprivation. We call them the Damned. And finally, there are those who live righteously, and uphold the Rule of Law, yet are made to suffer regardless. We call them the Destitute.

It is the Destitute, whose unwavering moral rectitude is constantly confronted by a deluge of depravity, who are to be most pitied. Furthermore, it is incumbent upon us, who have the means, to discover within us the Will to raise up our fellows in just reward for their virtue.

I speak, not merely of material goods, but also of matters of the Spirit. There are those among us whose greatest worry is not a leak in their roof, or a deficit in their bank account; it is a crack in their very soul, left by some sudden trauma or the slow decimation of affliction. These people are all around us. They live next door to us, work in the same offices, shop at the same stores, and watch the same television shows. And every day they struggle, alone, with a demon in their mind.

To offer them succor, would be such a simple thing. It costs us nothing to listen; it costs us nothing to love; and for so many whose hearts are overcome with sorrow, compassion is the only coin they require. To stand, just for one moment, shoulder to shoulder with someone who has looked into the face of Darkness and say to them, “You are not alone,” is the greatest gift any person can give. And it costs us nothing.

A Musing on Muses

The other day a friend of mine shared a link on one of the Facebook pages I follow that was both beautiful and inspiring. It was a short video of a woman singing to call a herd of cattle. Immediately, upon watching this video, I was struck by a notion: Is this how we first domesticated animals?

We have all, or most of us at least, heard the expression “music soothes the savage beast,” but where did such a concept come from? It has been my observation that most domesticated animals enjoy the sounds of music and song, and it does seem to have a calming effect on them. In ancient times, when animal husbandry was new or just beginning, humans would have needed a way to summon and placate their herds. I don’t know how many of you have ever worked with or around herd animals before, but they can be remarkably skittish and prone to wild, panicked outbursts. But a simple song can summon and soothe instinctively, making it the perfect tool for primitive human herders.

I wonder when we forgot about the power of song? When did we decide to use dogs, and prods, and whips or to simply keep our herds and flocks locked up in barns all day long? I think we know the answer to that, too. It happened a long time ago, when we as a species discovered that animals could carry material value as well as intrinsic value. When the concept of profit entered the equation we began to care more about the price in gold owed to us by other humans, and less about the price of beauty and respect that we owed to the beasts.

I have little talent for singing, myself, but I think it would not be so bad a thing if those who are able were to return to the practice of, (if you’ll forgive the pun), ‘singing for their supper.’ We have led a good many lambs, and other creatures, to the slaughter over the last eon, and we have given them so very, very little in return for their lives. Maestro, an A, please.

I Miss The Darkness

I miss the Darkness. And I’m glad I took a few days to collect my thoughts before composing this post, because I read something today that added a new “flavor” to what that sentence means to me. 

The post I read, on a blog I had never heard of before, referred to the intrusive presence of social media in our lives as “a bunch of flashing lights.” (Not at all an inaccurate description if you’ve ever sat next to someone checking Facebook on their iPhone in the theater.) And when I say ‘I miss the Darkness’ one of the things I realized I meant by that was that I miss a world with fewer distractions. It’s not for nothing that most forms of meditation begin with closing one’s eyes: the world around us is full of distractions, now more so than ever. (And yes, I’m well aware of the irony of posting this on social media via an iPhone.)

But Darkness hides more than just the world’s distractions: it also hides our actions from the world. We all have secrets. We all have dreams. And for one reason or another we choose to keep those secrets and dreams hidden away in dark places. I miss the Darkness. I miss having that place that I could go, and things that I could do, that I would never dare show to the daylight world. It was a kind of power, and a kind of victory, to have those secrets and that freedom. And it was freeing to be able to go to that place, dissolve into it, and be carried away. At some point, Darkness becomes as much a practice as a place.

I miss the Darkness, and I miss the perspective that it gave me. In the corporeal world, one who stands in the light will have difficulty seeing into shadows, whereas one standing in shadows can see a lighted area with ease. Much the same is true of incorporeal matters. Recall the meditation example from above. When one seeks the Light, or Enlightenment, it is first necessary to recognize that one is standing in the Dark. We distract ourselves in this life with a lot of flashing lights and brightly colored things, but they dazzle our Eye in the search for Light. Soon we become dependent on those distractions; for as soon as they are gone all we see is the Dark and, out of fear, we find new bright and pleasing distractions to hide the Dark, because that is easier than seeking for the Light.

I have been walking in the daylight world of flashes and colors for too long now; telling mysel that I must be concerned with practical matters for the time being. Well, at long last, the practical matters have begun to fall into place, and it’s time to go back out into the Darkness and seek for true Light.

I miss you, Darkness. But don’t worry: I’m coming back.