Wavery

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 knowing
Not caring about not knowing
Floating free in the starry, starry night

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