I’m thinking of the adjectives that seem to fit me these days. Here they are: tipping, untethered, woozy, disoriented, toppling, floating, soft, falling, yielding, loose, crumbling, unravelling.
Woh. Guess that hodge podge sounds pathological. Apparently here’s a man who’s lost, who’s coming unglued, who’s losing touch with firm reality. Except I don’t see it as pathological at all. Something is changing. There’s a morphing into newness. There’s an innocence, a sense of not being protected, a welcoming of all life. There’s a relaxing of my analytic mind, of opinion, of having a solid place to view the world from.
I woke up in the wee hours to a dream. From age 12 to 18, I played cello in orchestras. Last night, I was in the concert hall, searching for my instrument. I found myself in the middle of the flutes, wondering why they weren’t cellos. Actually, was I in a concert hall? I wasn’t sure.
I wandered aimlessly, sensing that home was somewhere in the vicinity. I just couldn’t point my finger in that direction. Finally, I found an instrument that sort of looked like a cello. Its neck wasn’t rounded but instead flat and hugely wide. “Is this a cello” I asked the hall. No one answered.
I never did find home. I never even became confident that I would find it some day.
Just before waking, the wall behind the stage opened up to the sky beyond, and I was being sucked out into space, just like in those thriller airplane movies. The concert disappeared … and so did I.
Not caring about not knowing
Floating free in the starry, starry night