Last Update Performed: 28 December 2005


Time: 9:37 a.m. EST
Date:
28 December 2005
Reading:
Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography by John Dominic Crossan
Hearing:
Sean Hoots "The Weight of You"
Inspiration:
Dreams

Entry: Bookcase Dreams

Strange set of dreams last night. The first was shaped like a bookcase (these are my dreams, recall, so this is not unusual) and on each shelf an episode was taking place. Each event was running concurrently with the shelf above and below it so it was very difficult to take in. I don't remember much outside of this structure, and the appearance of a rabbit hutch.

The second dream was perhaps stranger on some levels. I remember driving to my old elementary school for a choir concert at the request of my father and mother. After struggling in the gravel lot for parking, I entered the too small building. The atrium was crowded, and everyone was overly dressed up. I was wearing dark suit slacks and high heels, a blazer and claret silk blouse. (Insert laughter here.) As I awaited the arrival of my family I crouched near the door near the box holding the event program for the evening. Everyone who entered the door seemed expectant of me to hand them a program. I assured them that I was not an usher, that they should take a program themselves. Finally my father and mother arrive and I stand up, finding myself much taller than they are. I tell them it's my heels. I ask where my brothers are and my father states that they are at band practice downstairs. Band practice? I hear a throbbing bass line filtering up through the floor and feel the kick of a bass drum. I decide to excuse myself from the elementary school choir concert to visit my brothers' rock band rehearsal.

The lower level of the elementary school is uncannily like the lower level to our first childhood home in CO. As I cross the long den, I can see my brothers rehearsing in the room on the west wall. They haven't seen me, so I sit on the sofa just outside the room and have a listen. They are good--Josh is singing (something he is quite unable to do in real life), and Jeremy is playing the guitar. They are playing a cover of an 80's tune that I recognize, playing along with the CD of the song. When the song ends, I enter the room applauding and my brothers are startled but not embarassed or bashful about having played unknowingly for me (a strange juxtaposition to what I would have done in the same situation). Josh is thin, looking like a professional musician somehow. As he hugs me, he says that he must excuse himself as he is conducting the choir concert upstairs. (The shock on my face must have transcended from the dream and onto my face asleep in the bed!)

Jeremy and I remain, and I look him over. He is youner than he is in reality, caught somehow in my memory as the cherubic towhead he was at age nine or ten. But his hair is drastically changed, cut in a dramatic A-line and dyed jet black. The first thing I think of is a Blink-182 fan-boy, but as he looks at me, I can see that this is simply a hairstyle and my brother is as sound and rational as he has ever been. The Rage Against the Machin T-shirt peeks from behind his guitar, and I tell him I really like his hair. (This is our "in-joke;" what I really mean is that I admire him for doing something to piss our father off.) I take a better look at his guitar: it is black, looking rather like a Fender Strat but when I look at the headstock I see the brand "Martin" discreetly layed in with gold. On the guitar's glossy black body, a Keebler Elf (the blond one) has been painted by hand. This is amusing. I follow the strings up to the headstock, expecting to see a Floyd Rose, but am surprised to see a bunch of acrylic marbles and beads and Italian paper clips dangling from the strings. He starts to play something that sounds like Led Zepplin, and the strings are making the most amazing sounds. There seem to be sympathetic strings droning a chord under his intricate tacets, and the acrylic marbles make them chime in such a way that it sounds like a the electric guitar is accompanyed by a sitar, or something like it. I'm fascinated by this, and Jeremy says it is his own design and invention.

At this point I made myself wake up. I could feel the urge to ask them if I could join their band, but in the dream I knew that I would not be so talented as I am in real life. This dream was all twisted, and I can't imagine what sounds might have come from my throat had I opened my lips to sing.


Time: 10:02 a.m. EST
Date: 30 November 2005
Reading: Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography by John Dominic Crossan
Hearing: Kate Bush Aerial (Disk 2)
Inspiration: Need for Updating

Entry: The Week Surrounding the Wedding Update

Now that the wedding and the first honeymoon are finished, I feel enough returned to the mundane world that I can get you all up to speed here. I'll begin with the first day of my leave from work, 09 November.

Wednesday: I wasn't supposed to have the day off, but the final details were already crowding in, taking over my ability to prepare for work. So, after calling to extend my leave, I set out to shopping at A.C. Moore and Total Wine for some finishing touches to the reception. Fiance soon joined me and we purchased food for the church reception at Costco, somehow coming out at about half the price of what we would have had we had the thing catered. That was a relief. For the rest of the evening, we cleaned house and put together the programs for the church and the reception. I can't remember what else, but rest assured we were busy.

Thursday 10 November: The first of our guest arrived around 4 p.m.; my father and step-mother from Colorado. The day was again filled with running last minute errands before their arrival. I was scheduled to meet with a friend who had generously offered to create and design my bouquet. We met at Whole Foods at 6:30 p.m. to select flowers. What we came up with turned out beautifully, and I was very satisfied with the spontaneous selection of seasonal flora. My parents and Eric joined me there for supper in the cafe. My father was having some issues for whatever reason--some anxiety or apprehension about how the next few days would go with ALL of my family in one place at the same time. I, amazingly, was particularly serene and calm the entire weekend. My father would find this unsettling as well in the days to come. I left them after supper to negotiate I-40 traffic, arriving at RDU at 8:30 p.m. to pick up my friend from whom I've been too long separated and his fiancée arriving from San Diego. We got lost in Durham on the way to their hotel, but it was simply more time spent together and quite a few laughs. I'd missed him so much, and it was a great opportunity to catch up.

Friday 11 November: Everyone arrived on Friday! Husband-to-be and I made our alcohol delivery to the castle shortly after 9:00 a.m. and were heading back to Hillsborough by 10:00 a.m. We had an obligation to his mother to get her to an appointment, and we attempted to help her find some furniture for her practically empty (but beautifully painted) living room so she could feel like she could properly entertain. Eric and I then left to have lunch with our friends at the Carolina Brewery. While we were at lunch, my father, step-mother and soon to be mother-in-law created platters for the church reception. My brother and mother had called leaving a message at home. They were having trouble finding their hotel despite the new-fangled navigation system on their rental car. I helped them find the pace over the telephone, and then we were on our way to pick them up and lead them to the rehearsal at the church at 6:00 p.m. Everyone seemed able to find the church in good order. My eldest brother and his wife, who were staying in Raleigh, were misinformed that they should attend the rehearsal, and in a dramatic game of phone tag, I was finally able to contact them in person and assured them they were to come, if for no other reason for the dinner after. I wanted to see them before the wedding. The rehearsal went well, despite my father's mood. He was extremely distracted and distracting to the Pastor and Fiance and me. When I called him on it, his Scorpio evasion techniques kicked in. I told him he needed to communicate with me, to tell me what he needed. His clever answer was, "I need one wife." I couldn't say what I was really feeling, something like, "you made this bed." But in truly Zen fashion, the water rolled right up ad over the mountain. This was a little harder to do the second time he got pissy, leaving the rehearsal and reneging on the rehearsal dinner! We had, earlier in the week, discussed the "Dutch" option with regard to paying for the meal, but he decided, rather, to entertain our guests from Norway and his good friend from Corpus Christie. His final words were, "I'll be better tomorrow." To this I said, "I hope so!" No one else seemed bothered by being together, though the tension was tangible. He didn't spoil our celebration, and we headed to the local Chinese Buffet. To what would have been his chagrin, my eldest brother and his wife picked up the tab for ten people.

Saturday 12 November: The Day! Husband-to-be and I arrived at the church slightly later than we had hoped. He commenced delegating setting up the reception, a lot of which he ended up doing himself. He set the unity candles up, the photograph and candle for his father, the flowers at the altar...he was a busy groom. I was getting ready in another part of the church, with my female attendants, mother and mother-in-law. My bouquet arrived and was amazing, and in thanks, I sent her to retrieve my friends from San Diego who had gotten lost in the shuffle. When they had arrived in good order, and the photographers were satisfied with their pre-ceremony shots, the ceremony commenced. I had a brief moment with my father before I began getting ready. When we met in the hallway, he looked frazzled, stressed, and a bit guilty. I was still floating on my pond of serenity. He said he felt as though he were the one getting married, to which I laughed a hearty belly laugh (as best I could in my corset). The irony of that statement was perfect. The procession of attendants, flower girl, then father and bride. Purcell's Trumpet Voluntary never sounded so foreign to me than at that moment. The church was suddenly unfamiliar, the faces breezing by, the thoughts of how terrible it would be for me to slip and thank the Gods Kelly took the heels outside to scuff the new bottoms up, and my father feeling very stiff and too warm in is suit coat, and my realization that the dress was very sheer under the lights, thank you Lennis for the shawl, and there was Eric. Throughout the ceremony, I heard the words Pastor Colley spoke with my whole being, and I was on a plane with Eric that I never thought to experience there in a Christian Church. He was shaking, having not eaten much and perhaps some nerves. We were both so present, so connected as our hands were bound, and I could feel the heat of our joined hands with such clarity. We light the candles; the soloist sends me a wink over her shoulder. I feel prayerful, but most of all I feel the love radiating from our witnesses, those present and those who we had invoked, those who had gone before. Dr. T., there in the front and I know he has tears in his eyes. Step-mom wipes her eyes, and my Mum is crying too. We are presented and as the Widor Toccata is erupting joyously from the organ, I feel like skipping down the aisle to the reception. Our receiving line felt so long, but I was good to greet everyone properly and thank them for coming. There were jokes and anecdotes about marriage, sincere congratulations and well wishes, and the most memorable comments from friends who truly thought I made a beautiful bride. I felt so, and I was amazed by this.

After the reception, I was swept away by my bridesmaid and her roommate to our appointment at the salon for hair and make-up. For us the day went smoothly. Husband's day was a bit more hectic, and stressful with getting things together and gathering people that would follow him to the castle. He arrived promptly at 6:00 p.m., and as the pertinent items he had in his possession were placed for the ceremony/handfasting, he changed into costume and we began the ceremony around 6:30 p.m. I made my way downstairs to the sanctuary with the flower girl's words echoing in my head: "You and I are the prettiest ones here." I did feel beautiful. For the first time in a very long time, this feeling. I took my father's arm, noting that his costume was Renaissance and not medieval, but shook it off. He was still in a mood, but he managed to say that he could tell that I was in my element. I must have been glowing or something. As we entered the sanctuary, there was an audible collective intake of breath, the squeaking of wooden chair legs against the slate floor, and camera bulbs flashing as though I was someone famous--I had paparazzi! There at the front was Eric, Rev. Drexel, whom I had met only a half hour earlier as the stand in for our Interfaith Minister who had fallen ill. She was nervous, this being only her sixth wedding. Ours was a complex as they come, I suppose, lots of ritual, lots of words. But it was truly representative of us, or our relationship. It was the satisfaction of both of our faiths and passions. More winks from the photographer from behind the "altar" as he captured what I'm sure were genuinely beautiful shots. Eric's words choked me up--I had a tearful and joyful moment then, hearing why he loved me. I felt like that woman in those moments. Another receiving line after telling the caterers to dress the salads, comments on the ceremony and the simply amazing dress Julia created just for me. A photograph, more photographs, announcements to the guests, and the buffet begins. Husband and I take one photo outdoors by the torches reflecting in the moat before actually eating. The mead was a hit, but we still came home with a lot of alcohol. Everyone loved the meal, the music, and the fact that 90% of the place was dressed up in period costume. Toasting--everyone said such lovely things about us, about how we met, about their deep joy for our success in love and all of our other obstacles. Guests were taken aback by the fact that the men of my family are such good and sincere orators (I think my father, a long-time member of Toastmasters, was even shown up but my brothers, again, to his chagrin). Cutting the cake, more photographs, some table-hopping, and all too soon the evening had come to an end. Somehow Eric and I managed to fit four people and a full load of returning gifts and cake (good grief, the cake!) the 60 miles back to Hillsborough, then over to RDU to drop the San Diego Friends off for their flight out. We feel into bed, quite literally, drained and blissful.

Sunday 13 November: We slept in only slightly, before being awoken by my youngest brother tapping on the door. He was dropping off my mother’s dress from the reception, which she decided she no longer needed and that I might be able to use. They were leaving extremely early for the airport, but I understood my brother’s need to return to CO. When we’d said our goodbyes, Husband felt the urge to open our gifts. We had saved all the gifts for opening all at once, so those of you who might have sent ahead, we didn’t see the contents until Sunday morning. (Proper “thank you” notes will be mailed soon!) Afterwards, we had Brother James and his wife meet us at the house for a quick tour before heading out to Weaver Street Market for a small breakfast. It was good to have a little time with them before they flew out to Dallas. The day was made better with serious talk of their return to NC, something that would be a great light on the horizon. Husband and I returned to mother-in-law’s house to await word from my father and our friends from Norway about spending some time together that day. We finally did hear by about 5:00 p.m., sadly after they had already eaten and were all feeling ready to retire for the evening. We had been waiting around amusing ourselves with photographs from the morning ceremony and playing Mad Libs…waiting. I was, again, disappointed at the lack of togetherness of my father in planning, but agreed that Monday we should get together in the morning. Husband’s family and I then went out to sup at Elmo’s Diner in Carrboro.

Monday 14 November: We met around 10:00 a.m. at mother-in-law’s house. My father and I had a brief moment in the entry, where he asked me how I was doing. I answered that I was fine, blissful. When I asked him how he was, he said much better. He apologized for the previous day, mumbling something about being such a grouch. I said, “Well, yeah. It’s fine though.” He said, “We’ll talk.” “I hope so,” was my definitive reply. (We didn’t talk, nor have we yet. This is a point of some aggravation to me.) The Norwegian guests were invited into the sparse living room, as she embarrassedly mumbled about the lack of proper seating for guests. She then proceeded to show them her entire portfolio of Sculpy polymer clay creations, both in sculpture and in photographs of those she has gifted to other people (things like a pair of lungs for her respiratory doctor, etc.). This promptly wasted an hour, and I could see that our Norwegian guests, and most especially my father, were shifting in their seats, looking at watches, and, in the case of my father, sighing audibly. It was truly surreal actually. When we finally commenced on our outing to Greensboro to find inexpensive oil paints for Siri, the realization that our trip would be a short one dawned on us. My father and step-mother wanted to be at the airport sometime around 1:00 p.m. to return their rental car and go through airport security. We made a quick stop for the paints and then had lunch at Tripps. I was privy to some pictures of my Norwegian third-cousins’ family and their home in Kristiansend S., and their cabin in Bergen. Lovely homes, lovely shining faces. It was such a contrast to our dower common kin, my father, sitting across the table. After lunch, we caravanned home to Hillsborough, and my father announced in the driveway that they would be heading to the hotel to check out and head to the airport. I made arrangements to meet with my Norwegian family at 7:00 p.m. at mother-in-law’s house for a light supper and sharing of stories and photographs before they left in the morning for SC. My parents made their goodbyes and Husband and I came to the house to get it ready for a quick tour by our Norwegian guests later in the evening.

At 7:00 p.m., we met Ruben and Siri, seeming much less burdened outside the company of my parents. This is something I felt rather acutely, but I’m sure Eric and his family registered it as well. We shared photos from the church wedding and discussed the prospect of a future visit to Norway as early as next summer. They kindly offered to meet us and invited us to stay in their Bergen cabin. Siri gifted me with a pin-cushion that she embroidered with a family design from our people’s tradition in Steinkjer, and this was truly a lovely bride-gift. Ruben seemed very interested in the fact that Eric is doing all of our home renovation himself. After supper, we led them to the house to show them just how much we’ve done and what there is left to do. The common reaction was that it was so much work, with a hint of “too much work.” They also seemed taken aback that we were living in the house as we renovated, something shocking to Siri. But they agreed that the house seemed just right for four little souls, and Ruben nodded his approval over his pipe and soon they were on their way back to the hotel.

Tuesday 15 November: The day was mostly spent tidying up the house, organizing and putting away the gifts before having dinner out in the evening.

Wednesday 16 November: Back to work, but only for three days. I worked a morning shift, and found myself falling out of the lofty heights of bliss and back into the drudgery of the mundane. The store is already frighteningly busy, well before the holidays. I’ve said it before, but this IS my LAST year of Christmas retail. If this year doesn’t kill me, it will stele my resolve to get a career-job at the turn of the year. As part of the Wedding Week festivities, Eric and I headed out to Raleigh for dinner at Tir na Nog, our favorite Irish Pub, and then on to Riverdance at the BTI Center. This show was a total surprise to me, as I’d forgotten it was coming to town. The evening was excellent, but there was more to come.

Thursday 17 November: That evening, we went to a Hurricanes game, guests of the IBM/Lenovo rep at UNC. We sat in the luxury box, had a delicious catered meal, beverages, and an absolutely perfect view of the ice. The Canes won the game, beating the Rangers 5-1. Another excellent day.

Friday 18 November: Evil day at work! Snotty customers, horrifying feats of mass consumerism…I couldn’t wait to leave directly after shift’s end for Carolina Beach and our honeymoon. When we arrived at the beach, we checked into the Courtyard by Marriot and settled in. We had dinner in their restaurant and a very chilly walk on the beach before retiring for the evening. Our room had a huge king sized bed and a spa tub, which we put to good use.

Saturday 19 November: Set the alarm for 6:30 a.m. so that we could watch the sunrise over the Atlantic. Our room was on the seventh floor, providing a panoramic view from the balcony. There is something about the beach on the eastern seaboard versus the Pacific beaches I’ve known in childhood. A more interesting color to the water, the way the breakers come in, the density of the foam, the crispness of the November morning. I was simply fascinated by the way brown pelicans fly in pattern as they ride along the breakers searching for a meal. We had our morning meal in the hotel restaurant, probably the best hotel continental breakfast I’ve ever had. Delicious link sausages! We then headed out to find a map of the area, then headed to Great Outdoor Provision Company in Wilmington to get some kind of wind-block for our ears. The blustery walk on the strand the night before convinced us that these would be necessary for future walking on the beach. Our first destination of the day was Carolina Beach State Park, for some sightseeing and good hike. We walked for about two hours, some of that off the beaten path and including for Eric climbing a tall pine tree in an attempt to find the proper trail, or, at the very least, the marina. Our legs were sore and our bellies grumbling as we headed into Kure Beach for lunch at Big Daddy’s. This place is pure nautical kitch, but the food was great. Afterwards, we made our way through Fort Fisher to the North Carolina Aquarium. Not quite the aquarium in Baltimore, but it was a great learning experience for the types of environments in the shoals of the Cape Fear and the local inhabitants of the Atlantic coast and Outer Banks. We returned to the hotel to shower and get gussied up for dinner at the Deckhouse restaurant. It came recommended by a co-worker and fellow newbie-foodie, so we decided to try it. Visible from the Marriot, the Deckhouse inhabits a former church. The steeple has been converted into a bell tower, and the steep roof is painted with a huge lobster and the words “steak and lobster.” The interior had been painted stark white and appointed with far more interesting nautical accents than our lunch destination. Dark wooden plank flooring and booths accented by low, almost candle light above each of the tables complimented the white walls and ceiling. We ordered two glasses of the 2005 beaujolais to accompany our meals. Eric ordered the filet, which was cooked to perfection and silky smooth at medium rare. I had the pecan and almond crusted salmon with lemon beurre blanc…divine! Well worth our last minute trip to Eckerd’s for black dress socks to replace Husband’s white sport socks. When we returned to the hotel, most definitely full, we took a short walk on the beach before returning to the room. We had a few glasses of sparkling raspberry mead leftover from the wedding and relaxed our sore muscles in the spa tub. We could see the waning gibbous moon over the ocean from the tub and enjoyed the company of the other.

Sunday 20 November: We checked out of the hotel, opting for a light breakfast of Greek yogurt I’d brought along and coffee from the hotel’s complimentary hot beverage bar. By 10:00 a.m. we were on the ferry for Southport, a quaint riverside town rich with Civil War history. We did some shopping in the town center, though not much was open due to it being Sunday. Around noon, we headed back into Wilmington for lunch at a Victorian Pub located in the historic Cotton Exchange building. Another excellent meal, mine consisting of a delightful shrimp po’boy sandwich and Husband having something called a crab melt: an English muffin toasted with a generous dollop of crab salad, a thinly sliced tomato and a slice of sharp cheddar cheese until the cheese is just bubbling and brown on the top. It was delicious! We’re going to try to replicate the recipe at home in the very near future. Leaving the beach is something worth lamenting, and the sky joined us with tears of its own (how dramatic, we didn’t cry, but it did rain a lot on the way home). I can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend than at the beach, and it was a sufficient first honeymoon—the prospect of a Norwegian visit next summer still being considered as the “official” honeymoon.

 


Time: 8:46 a.m. EDT
Date: 20 October 2005
Reading: The Internet Book of Shadows
Hearing: Dream Song (see below)
Inspriation: My dream

Entry: Dreaming Signs

The dream begins and I step out into the night in extremely high stiletto heels and a deep red dress. My hair is long and blonde and catches the moonlight. My date, a co-worker) is Levar and he is dressed in a snappy black suit, tie and feathered fedora style hat. He takes me by the crook of the elbow and his hand is too warm. We walk with a group of people on our date. We crest a hill and below us is a verdant field. As we descend, there is talking and laughter amongst the group, but I say nothing. I only feel Levar's too hot hand still on my arm. Suddenly, there is a commotion further in front of us, and an arrow whizzes by us. (The arrow is menacing looking, oversized carbon steel head, I think now it looked "evil." It had blood red feathers.) The members of our group start shooting back in self-defense. I do not shoot. We manage to continue pressing on, and we come into another part of the field where a children's archery tournament is being held. Our "enemy" groups are on either side of the tournament, but it is one of our side's arrows that fly through their group. The children scatter and the adults take up their bows and begin shooting at both sides in self-defense. At this point I break away from the battle. I know that no arrows can harm me. I walk up the side of the bowl of the valley and at the top of the ridge is a huge redwood tree. The tree has been draped with sheer white curtains. There is what looks to be a wedding party there; all of the people are dressed in sheer and embroidered white cloth. They all have dark skin and seem to be from India. As the wedding party enters the curtains around the tree, they sit on the ground with the curtain behind them, and from my vantage outside, it becomes like a tent and the tree looks like a tall white cone. The bride and groom arrive, enter the "tent" and I follow, still in my deep red dress. No one seems to notice my physical presence in the little room. I begin to sing with a voice not my own. It is more ethereal, haunting. The melody reminds me of Loreena McKennitt and the first line of the song is also the first line from a Seamus Heaney poem, "Come to the Bower." As I sing, I am conscious of creating the melody as I go and despite this I manage to have perfect pitch. I look at the faces of the wedding party, all are happy and some cry with joy. There is a man with lighter skin and bright blue eyes and a mustache that I clearly see beneath his sheer white veil. He seems to look at me, but says nothing. He is unmoved. As I am singing, I feel the joy of the celebrants, the life of the tree, the sanctity of the moment, but also the war outside and the presence of every person in the field. I feel the fear of the children, the fierceness of the adults defending them. I feel also the coldness in the calculations of the "evil" group who first shot the arrow at our group in the first place. When my song ends, the wedding party stands up and exits the area under the tree. I go too, and watch them meander into the distance, like a white wyrm. The tree looks shrouded, now, in white. I wander in the opposite direction, along the crest of the ridge. Levar and another from our group walk up behind me but I don't stop, I only sense their presence. The "war" is over, and everyone is randomly sitting in the field, unmoving. I realize I feel utter despair, when before I felt nothing at all. I overhear their conversation behind me. "What happened?" "Who is she?" "I don't know. Her name is Tess." "Oh, like Tess of the D’Urbervilles!" I know they are wrong. I am something else, a siren of some kind. And then I'm awake...

Current initial interpretations: Colors (white, red and black), are the colors traditionally associated with the three aspects of the Goddess (maiden, mother and crone), and the green field and redwood tree represent boundless nature, expanding both laterally and vertically. Easy appearance interpretations seem too obvious, i.e., the appearance of my co-worker, Levar, whom I had lunch with yesterday and chatted with most of the evening during work. He was wearing a black witch hat with feathers in an attempt to sell some Hallowe'en merchandise. The wedding is proof that I can not stop thinking about my own upcoming nuptials, and in fact my dress in the dream was the same color as my actual wedding dress. The singing reflects my awe at myself in recent musical ventures, but also the fact that I think about music all the time, how to combine literature and music, rather like Loreena McKennitt, actually. I may attempt to put Seamus Heaney's beautiful poem to music sometime soon. I don't understand the "evil" other group, nor do I understand the idea of the war with arrows. It shocked me upon reflection to know that I felt nothing for the people involved with the war, that I felt nothing for anyone. And then the despair, in the dream it was so terrible. Luckily, this was not one of my hyper-real dreams, where I probably would have carried that feeling out of the dream and throughout my day. (There would have been people dying too, but no one seemed harmed in the arrow battle.)

Perhaps this dream is trying to wake me up to the fact that my music is an escape of sorts, a place where I leave the real and pressing issues of the world behind. I've been trying to bring more political and social activism into my lyrics, into the music. Sometimes I feel as though I'm trying to hard, and the ease in the music of those who pull it off well, like Ani DiFranco, escapes me. I cannot deny the appearance of Goddess symbology in the colors and the moon herself. The signs have been coming in to me, through simple things like moonlight reflecting off a CD, to somehow managing to startle two does (one obviously in heat) during my last hike in the woods, to this dream. The veil is thinning, and I am in a state of heightened awareness as the season of Samhain nears. I will chart as much as I can, and try to learn what lessons the universe sends me.

I would love to hear any other, or additional interpretations of this dream.


Time: 11:05 a.m. EDT
Date: 12 October 2005
Reading: The Internet Book of Shadows
Hearing: iPod E-2 Playlist
Inspriation: Quarter Four--Autumn

Entry: The time has come...

By the time you read this, you will have noticed that Lost in Time has gone through some aesthetic changes. I hope to really get it up to par before the year is over, but with the wedding in November and another year of holiday retail assignment, I don't know how likely that will be. I only have a rough outline of what I want to do here, but I will share them with you now.

Firstly, changes in this journal. The last entry of the third quarter of 2005 made itself a sort of manifesto for me. In correlation to this, and another paper journal I keep rather like a diary, I've begun another paper journal for coming to terms with myself. It will act as a journal truly should, a place for self-reflection and space for truly doing work on myself mentally and emotionally, as well, I hope, as physically. This may not be the prettiest place in this proposed self-renovation, but it must be. For those of you interested in the mundane of my life, the daily to do's or the surface, I'll direct you to the following forums: Borea, a personal and political journal for quizzes and entertainments as such, and Borea's Flame, my collaborative songwriting journal with a friend with whom I've been creating music for the last few months. The Secret Sharer will be as absent of proper names as I can muster, unless one tells me it is okay to use their real name or a name of their choosing for sharing the lessons that person has taught me. There will be no code, no legend for others to use to somehow suss out anyone's identity. If you don't want to be here, you won't be. I have not yet decided if this will be a retroactive change, and as always I will be candid. Recently this has been brought to my attention, painfully; it has severed a relationship with someone very important to me. I'm tired of explaining and apologizing for this forum, for my method. I shouldn't have to. This journal is PERSONAL, about me. I can't help from whom the lessons come to me, or how. I will refrain from using names. I guess I've learned this lesson after all.

Secondly, I plan to do additions to the site in the areas of my creative works, reviews and the area pertaining to my spirituality. This is mostly because I recognize these as my roots, and that is something I'm trying to get back to. Writing, making music, and exploring nature have in the past been balms to me in times of depression. It only makes sense that I return to the comforts that have helped me in the past.

As I journey into my 30th year of this incarnation, this Samhain will be a pivotal point for me, a threshold. Serious changes have to be made for me to continue to live. I'm not being dramatic. There is a serious difference between living and existing, and for some time now, living is not what I have been doing. The time has come for me to change, not just talk and complain about it. This will only come if I deal with my issues, about food, about sex, about myself. I want to try this on my terms, which means that nothing will be quite coherent or succinct. I'll ramble till I get the core of the issue, and then I'll decide what that means for me. I hope I can decipher the clues, but if I can't, I'm not above asking a professional for help. The one thing I am most certain of at this moment is that I deserve better than the short shrift I give myself. I am not the person I want to be, neither for myself nor for my husband to be. He's been a huge inspiration for this, not only because he deserves it, but because he seems to see something in me that I thought long dead. I want to know that girl again. I know a lot of the rest of you do too. Know this is firstly for me. That is the only way I can manifest this change.

 


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