It’s morning. It feels like the night had several chapters. Early on in the proceedings, a woman came into the room. She was young and dressed in black – a long dress or a robe. As she wandered around, her head was down and her mouth was missing. Everything was very slow.
As I fell into and out of consciousness, the woman always seemed to be there, in no hurry to get anywhere, apparently satisfied by hanging out with me. In my more aware moments, I asked if this was real or was it a dream. And it didn’t matter. Nor was it important to analyze the thing. No, the lesson was elsewhere. There seemed to be such space around things, and she walked near me so slowly. I felt transported to her meandering path, seeing whispers, drinking in the flow of her robe.
And then I slept for hours, deeply. On awakening half an hour ago, another image flooded my bedroom. Apparently I own a van, and I was returning to it from an errand. Seven or eight drunk teenaged boys were occupying the space. Nothing was broken but garbage was everywhere. In quick order they disappeared, with no urging from me. The old house nearby was also a mess – beer bottles, hamburger wrappers. I was alone, picking up everything, putting it into bags, wishing that someone was with me to share the task.
Now, looking back at the two, there was no dilemma in my overnight. Strange yes, problem no. I’m still floaty, untethered. The tasks of the day remain but they’re blended into the background. Everything seems merged – no clear boundaries. And my fingers on the laptop keys fall in super slo-mo.
Is this spaciousness real? Is this a new normal approaching from the horizon? I don’t know … and I don’t care. Just let it be here, Bruce.