“Because the world owes me nothing / and we owe each other the world.”

Dreams, again, not having had time this morning to scribble em out:

First, some sort of spanish villa, dusty and orange-brown.  Running around. 

Then, maybe in this dream, maybe in another one, I go to answer my friend front door.  Standing there, out of the light but with light outside behind him, is a very tall and imposing Clint Eastwood.  He’s here for me, but it’s like time stops and I’m in some kind of awe looking at him.  It’s like a slow motion movie pan, from the legs up: a mix of Gran Torino baddass frailty and younger, poncho’d verve.  He’s not responding to me (yet, anyway), but allowing me to just take in his glorious presence.

Then, I’m in a semi-truck with one or two trailers.  My dad is driving, and I’m very nervous — like when I was a kid, and he’d tear through the Sierra Nevadas in the Bronco and I was so afraid we’d go off the edge of the mountain.  He stops paying attention and we drift over the edge.  There’s a road-runner-coyote moment where we’re off the edge and he’s turning the wheel to see if we can make it back to the road, but of course not because you can’t get traction on thin air.  So we tumble down, but it’s actually not very far down at all, I don’t think we even tumble — we’re on a beach, and there’s a restaurant down there where we stop for some food.  Then we get back on the road, and he’s still driving.  We’re not on a road, but driving through a mountain forest, uphill, on an old pebbly set of train tracks.  I am excited and nervous, but different than before.  I tell him, this is the part that always scared me as a kid, and he agrees.  We keep going up.

Funny about the ‘part that always scared me,’ cuz the during the part that actually DID scare me as a kid, the thought doesn’t even occur to me.

 I like this week’s wonderful buoyancy.  Rachel told me last night how everything seems to be going my way, to which I agreed, but when I got home I was thinking: it’s all in how you look at it.  I could be sitting around saying to myself: I have a shit apartment, a shit job, my 5.5 year relationship is falling apart, the world is in crisis, my mom is dying, just totally losing my shit.  But not only does it not feel that way, I can’t even see it that way.  I feel everything is as it should be, everything is moving, finally moving.  My mind is coming back, curious all day long, where I do busywork that allows me to read till I burst with factoids and impossible ideas.  My heart is light and its mouth is wide open.  I described it last night as some kind of push, or natural contraction, on every level.  And it’s not even the drugs talking…ha.  And now, I must go give a Spanish test.  Mas a venir…


~ by Arrrow Marie on January 23, 2009.

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