A Southward Tide

Poems, essays and excerpts. A favorite quote or two. An observation. A compendium of imagery. A dream analysis.

Tag: Dream

April 11, 2014

Lucky Stones

As a young adult, I wore a boxy Liz claiborne purse, gray or light tan with a thin leather cross-over strap, filled with pencils, erasers, flavored lipgloss and a few lucky rocks. I had collected a gray skipping tone, the size of a big grape, and a smooth hematite. I was shy and when I felt challenged, my fingers would turn over the stones in my bag, infusing me with providence and power.I was an animist; my stones had souls. I cannot quite remember when I grew out of them but it was not an obvious transition. In high school, I shoplifted crystals from nature stores at the mall. In college, I collected frogs.

Finally I abandoned the needs of childhood to ground myself with physical objects and instead retreated to the colorful recesses of my mind, where fantasies trumped the day. For years now, I have hedged on reality. Even when two beautiful children have presented me with magic beyond human imagination, I have maintained my own dream life, a foot-out-the-door of this world, a vague morass of happiness and drama where no decisions need ever be made, just possibilities, endless possibilities.

I have my own versions of lucky rocks, ideas that help me get through it all: moving to Los Angeles or even better, Bali, irrational crushes, careers I could never pursue, hobbies that remain out of reach and things I have no intention of acquiring. At my wedding, I felt terrorized by my own uncertainty not so much because I lacked in love but more because I lacked the ability to live within the compass of regularity. Happiness was something for people that understood what this game of life was about, I reasoned.

Yet as I pursue mindfulness,I must let go of the notion that something outside of myself, be it a rock or a distant dream, fulfills me. And for a dreamer like me, this is bittersweet.

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October 23, 2013

The Interpretation of Silence

“We live…lives based upon selected fictions. Our view of reality is conditioned by our position in space and time – not by our personalities as we like to think. Thus every interpretation of reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed.” (Balthazar, Lawrence Durrell)

Balthazar, the second in Lawrence Durrell’s The Alexandria Quartet, has always been one of my favorite first reads, shattering the constructions so carefully set out in Justine. Is this not the best type of literature – the kind that piles misinterpretation upon misinterpretation, that builds a false belief system so Romeo can drink his poison, where the fiction of the story itself and the fictions created within the story merge seamlessly. In a much quoted line from Justine, Durrell foreshadows the unraveling of the subsequent books, “Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?”

Ultimately, we condition ourselves by the preset limitations of our perceptions. How many little deaths do we create, how many times do we drink the poison believing our dreams to be dead when they are just sleeping? Or sometimes we dream the false dream, like the narrator of the The Alexandria Quartet, when beyond our small castle of thoughts a much larger fortress resides, an entire socio-political, even emotional, landscape. In ninth grade, I developed an intense crush on a classmate who was always staring at me. Only months later did I realize his girlfriend was seated behind me; hours of visual dialogue had occurred between them and in my head, just wasted time.

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