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Nov. 30th, 2008 09:46 amHad a dream, night before last.
I was sitting in a private park. Lush green grass, trimmed like a golf course. A little hill. In the middle of the little hill, a tree. Climbable, but willowy, its roots just barely peeking knees out from the soil, its leaves another shade of green, just as vibrant. I sat at the tree's feet and looked round. Beside me was a weathered block of wood, like the end of a 4x4, planted in the ground and cut at an angle. And on the wood was carved and burnt the secret to serenity. It wasn't long; four or five words in a nice weighty serif type, not quite 72-point.
In the dream, I could read it clearly. I understood. I was amazed at the simplicity and rightness.
And so I turned on my trusty Fujifilm FinePix and tried to centre up on the block to take a picture. Evidence, you know? A reminder.
And once, I could get it in the frame. But it was out of focus. So I tried to focus, but it had slipped out of the frame somehow. Thereafter, I could catch a corner, or a word, or an edge, or any part of the tree or park my heart desired. But even though I knew where the block was, even though I knew from what angle it had to be viewed to be read, even though I knew what it said, I couldn't frame it again. When I looked with my eyes, it was the same way.
Maybe because I was so certain I knew what it was/said/meant, I couldn't see it again. My cup was already full, how could anything else be added?
...
You know.
Part of me wishes just once that I could pull enlightenment out into the waking world, when I find it in a dream.
But more and more, I'm getting okay with knowing that it's tucked away in my hindbrain somewhere and will turn up when it's needed.
Maybe everybody's got it tucked away back there, waiting to be tripped over.
I was sitting in a private park. Lush green grass, trimmed like a golf course. A little hill. In the middle of the little hill, a tree. Climbable, but willowy, its roots just barely peeking knees out from the soil, its leaves another shade of green, just as vibrant. I sat at the tree's feet and looked round. Beside me was a weathered block of wood, like the end of a 4x4, planted in the ground and cut at an angle. And on the wood was carved and burnt the secret to serenity. It wasn't long; four or five words in a nice weighty serif type, not quite 72-point.
In the dream, I could read it clearly. I understood. I was amazed at the simplicity and rightness.
And so I turned on my trusty Fujifilm FinePix and tried to centre up on the block to take a picture. Evidence, you know? A reminder.
And once, I could get it in the frame. But it was out of focus. So I tried to focus, but it had slipped out of the frame somehow. Thereafter, I could catch a corner, or a word, or an edge, or any part of the tree or park my heart desired. But even though I knew where the block was, even though I knew from what angle it had to be viewed to be read, even though I knew what it said, I couldn't frame it again. When I looked with my eyes, it was the same way.
Maybe because I was so certain I knew what it was/said/meant, I couldn't see it again. My cup was already full, how could anything else be added?
...
You know.
Part of me wishes just once that I could pull enlightenment out into the waking world, when I find it in a dream.
But more and more, I'm getting okay with knowing that it's tucked away in my hindbrain somewhere and will turn up when it's needed.
Maybe everybody's got it tucked away back there, waiting to be tripped over.
