Written in the Body
Some people, like memories, never leave you. Even when you think they have left your conscious mind, their essence deposits like sediment on the walls of your cells to infiltrate the tiny grooves of your being in order to re-visit you at unsuspecting times. I had a dream about a yoga slacker last night. Sometimes I think that the people who appear in our actual lives, in our fantasies, or in our dreams, bring messages relevant to living meaningful lives. This one I think was moon induced.
When March arrived this year in California, I started recalling the early morning runs I had taken while the yogaslackers were snow kiting across the state of North Dakota for 3 weeks. I had to check the dates to find out that I was having these recollections exactly one year later but under very different weather conditions etc. It made me wonder if somehow the experience had not been an imprinted cycle, like the rings of a tree. The impetus to run in sub zero temperatures at 6 AM had been the 2XTM journey, but my own will locked into a sort of machine when it came to the actual running. I was also having lucid dreams and fantasies and some of these dreams brought insights and details that I otherwise would not have known. In one particular dream Jason was part of a sort of traveling circus where characters morphed into machines. I also remember feeling insecure (in the dream) about how I would measure up physically, the very deepest part of my actual psyche expressing itself. Outside the dream, I knew I was no match for the yoga slacker physically, but was delighted that he met my need to have an engaging, clever and intellectually energetic writing partner. Because we did not know each other and only wrote to each other, he satisfied a desire to live my actual and dream lives in delightful unison.
During yoga class I became annoyed when the instructor attempted to replace the imagery of my dream with other images. In the dream we (the yoga slacker and I) were physically in one another’s presence, but the connection extended beyond that realm, like it had in so many of my dreams about him. I can only liken it to an effortless feeling of perfection and of being one with something beyond the physical– a fantasy, a dream or a desire to live in the flow of grace. I reeled in this realm for the better part of the day as Andrew Bird’s Lull played over and over in my body.
Being alone
It can be quite romantic
Like Jacques Cousteau
Underneath the atlantic
A fantastic voyage
To parts unknown
Going to depths were the sun’s never shown
And I fascinate myself
When I’m alone
So I go a little overboard
But hang onto the hull
While I’m airbrushing fantasy art on my life
That’s really kinda dull
Oh, I’m in a lull
I’m all for moderation
But sometimes it seems
Moderation itself can be kind of extreme
So I join the congregation
Join the softball team
I went in for my conformation
Where incense looks like steam
I start conjugating proverbs
Where there once were nouns
This whole damn rhyme scheme’s
Starting to get me down…
Oh, I’m in a lull
I’m in a lull
I’m rambling on rather self consciously
While I’m stirring these condiments into my tea
And I’m so lame
I bet I think this song is about me
Don’t I, don’t I, don’t I,
I’m in a lull
Oh, I’m in a lull
Oh, I’m in a lull
Oh, I’m in a lull
