Tuesday, July 31, 2007

July 30, 2007

July 30, 2007

I have a luscious, varied, highly creative life, many lives, going on inside my head. One would think, if I could and did express them, that I was schizophrenic. In my dreams, I share the many lives of my other focuses of essence. I bore so easily in my days, because my inner lives are so much more dramatic. Yet, I cannot stand drama in my objective life. It is too distracting from what is going on inside my head.

Sometimes when I’m discounting myself, I think if people knew what was going on, if they even had some inkling what I did in there, that they would judge me as mendicant and lazy, an airhead out of touch with reality, in need of some good drugs or on some bad ones, and not attentive enough to “real life” and the people I share it with. This is discounting of my self. I resist the counter response of “You’re just jealous.”

As rich as my inner life is, I crave objective interaction with others. I want to hear what they have to say. The vicarious sharing of their dramas fascinates me, as long as I do not have to participate, too. I long for the sharing of my thoughts and conceptions. I love the beauty of my thoughts and feelings. I appreciate the beauty of others’ thoughts. I gather their expressions of their feelings like so many molted feathers on the ground. Amazed that someone would slough off diamonds, these feathers of feelings I gather as if they were the ones on my knick-knack shelf. The little spontaneous gifts I treasure. And better still I look up at the birds, these people, as they grow new millions of beautiful feelings with which they fly.

She said last night, “No one gets us like we get us. We are so rare we have to stick together.” I had to agree with my friend with only a nod of my head. That is all I could do, to nod with the millions of un-objectively expressed feelings and thoughts that make their homes inside her and me. It is near impossible to express that silent flooding energy that passes between us. I sent her a message of electrons, “I sit here writing, sharing the beautiful aloneness with you, not wanting to shatter it with objective expression.” I know she will read it, and sigh with her wan smile, and become more intensely engrossed in her aloneness, making it even more colorful and iridescent.

White lightning flashes on the northeastern horizon viewed through my sliding glass door. Footsteps of my heavy neighbor thump the air and my bottom through the floor, like echoes of the thunder too distant to hear. I think of practical things I could be doing, like paying bills, and entering numbers and payees in my electronic checkbook register. My hands grow bored with the plodding scribbling of my thoughts. I pause…

…and wonder if I feel like writing anymore, which slows my thoughts and keeps them earth-bound.


4mrReigna said...

So many lives and so little time to devote to each as they simultaneously continue on in an infinite march towards an undefined future. A future where one life may intersect with another if only for just a brief moment and then transcend back to it's alloted space of existence. It's good to hear from you again in this objective life I seem to lead that pushes the others to the fringes of my mind.

crow said...

Very nicely written Roland. Beautiful thoughts and well understood as I sat alone by the river in the mountains this morning. Not wanting to leave the peacfulness but feling somewhere in the back of my mind I have to deal with matters in what others would call the "real world" if only briefly.
Then I may return to the sanity and solitude of my own world.