I dreamed I was in a band last night. It’s been almost ten years since I’ve been on stage. I miss it a lot. I like group creative projects – I often need something larger than myself to continue, to finish work, and the group is more than “just me”. The dynamic is exhilarating, usually fun, sometimes frustrating – rarely boring. Though I haven’t been making music, I have been in a collaborative project for months now, and it is informing my solitary work in a good way (I’m painting again), and I am waking up with the desire to create almost over all else.
Do this first thing upon waking, before you look at emails or your phone. Do it when you wake up in the morning because you have to go to the bathroom. It’s best to do when you are in a semi-dreamy state, or before anyone else distracts your day. Three minutes, whatever comes to your head.
It’s been a dreamy week – and that’s how things are in Flagstaff in the summertime. Astrologers would say the recent eclipses, and then, planets changing signs this week could contribute to that feeling. Also, I’ve been spending less time on Facebook and more time actually talking, laughing, dancing, smiling, joking, eating, drinking, working, playing, […]
I love to sleep. I love coming out of sleep slowly, and I love to write the minute I wake up.
For years, I had the practice of writing my dreams in the morning as soon as I awoke. I fell out of the habit over the last few years. I decided to begin practicing again this week.
This week I feel more alive, relaxed, and present than I have in a long time.
Dreaming I am driving in the city, a city, the way I dream of New York lately. Houston Street is always a vast 8-lane highway that breaks off in a V, dividing the Lower East Side from the rest of the city. Massive buildings, uneven, bulging, and swaying—thousands and thousands of windows. No room for air. It’s grey, the sky, the city, everything. Even red and yellow have a coat of grey.
I imagine the little fish in my soup squirming in my mouth, the crunch of their bones. I run back to the house. I look in my soup. One of the fish is gone. I fish the remaining one out – and drop it in a bowl of water. It’s little mouth is gasping. I saved it! – I think. No, I killed it – I think – it is alive but now partially cooked.
holly troy ~ sacred folly 