Deep primal scream. Happy day. All sorts of random emotions are spilling out of me. I’ve made some use of the time, even if some of that use was laying in bed chasing after this dream I had that had its birth very early in the morning and its death at my unnecessary alarm. So I had to run after it, flailing with a bellows to keep a fire burning and keep it all aloft. I failed utterly, and took hours too long to do it, but I don’t mind.
Here’s what I remember – there was a seller or maybe a thief of books. In this realm, they were a secret currency, a magic, a gift, rarer as gold. He was in trouble. His hair was dark, but shoulder-length so it obscured his face. He had a backpack, I think it was yellow, but so worn I am not sure. He kept it as close to him as we met in a hotel lobby or perhaps a coffee shop, we were set back in some small corner. I was a Queen, not of everything, not of people, but more of a Duchess which I think suits me better. I don’t know how I knew him, but as he unzipped the backpack he held tightly between his ankles and pulled this backpack-sized book (with a binding thin enough it must have been a picture book) halfway out, just enough, I knew I knew him well. I knew, in fact, that we were in love. Like legitimate, emotionally hamstrung, regrettably but genuinely in love. He was not, of course, the King. And as I smelled the overwhelming alcohol on his breath, I knew this was trouble for us both.
Somehow, I stumbled out, clutching the book in a brown paperbag-colored satchel when I come across this, golden tree-looking creature. Thinner than an ent, but entish, I suppose. And angry with me. “I will tell him what you’ve done”, this magical creature threatened.”I will tell him you’ve been kissing me.” And I knew I hadn’t, so I wondered why he was lying, but I knew that as queen, this would be disruptive, bad news. I was running with my book, worrying about the book thief, as the alarm went off.
I am going to do what I can to recreate the circumstances and hope this particular world lets me in again if I bang at the door. Yes, today was spent doing the oddball things I love. This is what the shaman meant. How I had to get right with me before there’s room in my head for anyone else. So I tuned and played my ukulele. Fingertips hurt, but a good hurt. My memory came back faster than I thought. I played Mass Effect for a bit. Listened to the Basement Tapes and gleefully delighted in the seeming return of Mumford & Sons. I ate low carb. I judged myself for my imperfections, but let them go fairly quickly. I missed you, you kaleidoscope man, you keeper of millions, you thiever of books. I stretched for ten minutes against the aching scream of my neck, stretched every phalange and joint. It made me feel peaceful and soft. I listened to Ben Howard and bought his newest album with a gift card I had about.
I took care of me today. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I am so imperfect, so failing, so
But my sister is right. Who is They? They is Me. And I am the one holding the reins on this carriage that so wants to run away. Let it run away, let it capsize, let it run off the rails and off the edges of cliffs. It’s only a dream, nothing can break while you’re playing.