I miss my illusions sometimes. I create such neat fantasies in my mind, rich, alive, in full color, 3D, or some 4D, even better. I’m liking what I know of 4D.
I’m an adept creator, I dream dreams while dreaming. I’m often unsure of which is my ‘reality’ but that’s subjective now, isn’t it?
I can taste them, forget really that they are merely my fabrications.
I’m an artist at heart though, all my creations start with such fantasy.
I’m endeavoring to separate the ones I might have some chance of making happen, and the others,
to allow them to have the life they’re meant to have. Yet another opportunity to let loose my tight hand grip, my attachments.
Oh, but have you ever imagined something so great you can honestly taste, feel, smell the experience, hear the sounds in your head, see it acted out in front of you, be the person in the unfolding drama.
It’s dangerous my mind. It needs discipline. My illusions need a master on board, a cowboy to corral them. Had I been an LSD taker I’d have never come back…I’m sure of that. My own mind is wickedly colorful and fierce enough with these musings of mine.
So this week, it’s with little doubt, (oooh, always a splash of uncertainty, when I’m tired and have had little sleep), time to turn the corner, flip the switch, (wo)man the ship, time to take the wheel and tuuuuuuuuurn the boat around….
it’s time, it’s time, it’s time…..
batton the hatchs, put on my boots, my cowgirl shit kickin boots, the ones made of worn leather covered in dirt,
move out the dead weight, lighten the load, it’s time to take control and still allow things to flow, be open to surprise.
Oh please, a light hearted surprise. I’m deserving.
Get ready, get ready, get ready….
Take no prisoners but rather train them to serve and blossom.
No more compromising, there is work to be done, visions to unfold.
It’s going to be soooo good. Even the less favorable times I’ll warrant. I’ll sit with them differently knowing it’s all key to the unfolding to which I’m due.
My father, someone I loved deeply and who I’d wished to have had more closely in my life while he was alive, that he’d seen me more, or I him, that we’d spent more time together being curious about one another, loving and celebratory as I was with my mom….
he promised me, (after his death mind you), that ‘honey, it won’t be like it was for me, it’s going to be eaaaasy’. He said that as he placed his hand, with my hand, on my heart. That alone was something fine to see. His acknowledgement of heart. Ahhhhh haaahahhahhahhaaaa….
I believe him. And isn’t faith believing even if you don’t feel or see what it is yet which you put faith in.
You just want (that was a Freudian slip), WAIT and see!
Or rather, I’m not waiting for anything, nor should you…but I’m here, in this moment, and the next, just breathing this fine air.
P.S. Happy Valentine Birthday mother of mine, (MMM), Kathryn ‘Kitty’ Royer Vogel. You’d have been 85 years alive on the earth yesterday had you chosen not to fly away when you did. Vogel, bird in German. I understand. Totally. I understand and will welcome the opportunity of a hand of gin rummy with you when it’s time, when it’s time. xo… (DDD).