~kat~ ramblings, observations, & mistranslations
~january 16, 1999~
"there are years that ask questions and years that give answers."
in a dream i was walking through a delicious castle of a house, filled with nooks and crannies and turrets.....random windows opened to small decks large enough for a few candles and perhaps a huddled individual or two. my chore was to light all the candles in the house which were on the walls, tables, floors, doors, windowsills -- everywhere.....it was quite peaceful and intriguing. in this house there was a comfortable sadness that existed in a state of near-delirium and i was terribly exhausted by some unknown activity, my only company was the vacant spirit of a long-dead rock legend, playing records he didn't remember the name of anymore. i lit all the candles one by one and carried on a conversation meandering about the finer points of reality with this ghost, his honey voice was dripping with a desire to change his mind and take back his relatively youthful decision to drink himself to death. this was the sadness in the house, voiced as, "i wish they would leave us alone," with "they" never really specified.
that's the trouble with "they." find blame anywhere but here and remember to send a christmas card to everyone else. i read that the only way to recover our cultural rootlessness is to change from a knowledge-based m.o. to one based in ignorance. this is: approach the entirety of life with the basic belief that you have absolutely no idea what you're doing, what will happen, where your baby blanket is, etc. and accept the juicy fruits of bonds forged in knowing nothing. that we have truly shot ourselves in the foot by thinking we have learned from our rather infantile history of experience is inherent in our current state of pollution, soil erosion, and inability to solve problems without the aid of violence. we have not evolved, merely mutated.
what is real, and who gets to define it? the only "revolution" worth fighting for is the one in your own mind. i've been meditating something fierce and i feel the burn, the gunfire in the back of my throat. sometimes i wish i didn't think so much, so i smoke to slow all the ideas down, just a bit, time enough to tango with them. or i lie on the bottom of the shower and count the searing droplets pelting my breasts. i want to leave. my blood says that we are whoever we make ourselves be, touted as a truly american idea, to be without any real identity. fickle and proud, strutting like a peacock and mewling like a broken kitten. we could tear anything down, but do we need to?
back in that intricate castle of a house my mind wandered fluidly and i felt the cohesion of so much more than just "right." i often proclaim my disdain in reference to "the grand scheme of things," a phrase which, amongst others, i have gleaned from many morning oatmeal conversations with my mother. this "scheme" is what comforts me in my alone, that everything i'm experiencing is actually a wonderful gift handed to me by an ephemeral presence whom cannot be named or described, other than to mention the very definite wholeness it exudes. amongst the feathery kisses and whispers i have come to believe that it is a spiritual fortitude we must seek collectively.....and only then will it be peace that we find.
