I woke up with three spirits made of white light trailing around my head, on the right (from the actor's point of view), and I said to them, "I think I am going to have to put everything that we've been talking about on hold, because there's this list I have to do, these things I have to make, these things to put out of my head and onto some other surface so other people can see them. I think it all has to be on hold. These things that live inside my head, I think they have to go to sleep inside my head, and rest, or fall asleep for a lot longer than I would have wanted, because I have this list, and those things inside my head, I think they only live inside my head, and they very well might live in other heads at the same time that they live in mine, but I don't know that, and if I don't know that then maybe they're not real."
Is exactly what I said (more or less).
((It probably was nothing like that at all)).
And the three spirits of white light around my head said, "No."
They said, "No, you are wrong, but it might be easier for you to think that you're right, just because you like it when the narration changes inside your head, because that makes you feel like you're moving forward, but this is all moving forward whether you know it or not, and it really doesn't matter if you know it or not anymore."
I wanted this resolved, however, because it was too much to resolve. I wanted a new story, not because these stories weren't interesting any more, but because all of the characters in these stories are tied, their hands are tied, and there's nothing that anyone can do, and in times like these, I would much prefer to leave them altogether, because I have a habit of waiting in a room where nothing is happening for much too long, and by the time I leave, nothing has been happening for so long that the figures have turned from flesh into magazine pin-up versions of what they were, and the pages are so worn that I can't even see the sparks in the eyes, and the faces look like they are disappointed in me, and sorry for me because I waited for so long when there was nothing to wait for. This is how I have learned how to respond when my hands are tied for a very long time. This is how I respond when I watch someone who's hands are tied for a very long time.
But they said, "No, because in this case, you are wrong, especially about that one, and now you just have to wait because it's cycling, and you can't really know what the cycle even is until you go through it, but you won't be alone."
I didn't want to admit that I really just didn't want to be alone for another New Year's Eve, and I was hoping that I could leave just long enough to find a date for New Year's Eve. And I'm getting tired of my own narrator, the one who stays in the same story for too long, and longer, way after there is nothing left to tell in the story.
But they kept repeating that this story is the one that I wanted to be in for a very long time, and it would not unfold smoothly, but it would unfold beautifully, because I put it in a boat in the river, and the river knows what to do with the wishes of solitary lovers who have been sprinkled with glitter from the moon when they are asleep and dreaming.
There was a dog. Before today, there was a dog. It belonged to the Boy I take care of, a beautiful dog who was already old, and I understood that something miraculous was going to take place that day. I also understood that this was the day that I was going to see the Boy, and visit the dog, and that this would not be the last time I saw the Boy, not at all, but that after today, the dog would not be there, and I didn't want to say goodbye.
But you have to say goodbye, because that is the cycle, and it's not up to me to decide where we are in the cycle, and when the dog has to go, she will just go, and it's up to me to be there and say goodbye, and that's what I would have to live through. And before I said goodbye to the dog, there was advice, and the advice was, "Maybe you don't have to understand anything right now, there's enough going on in your life that you no longer have to understand, because it's something that's just happening to you right now, and you can understand it later on." But the advice didn't come to me, it came from my mouth, and I was saying it to someone who has been in my head for a very long time, it came out of my mouth but I think the three spirits of white light were speaking it because they were using me.
And so it's like that. And maybe it's something miraculous. Because the room inside my head is not the same room I woke up in, but I've suspected I would be in this room for a long time, I was just not sure when that would happen, or when it would happen to me.
And I'm not broken or lost in this room, it seems like a place I would like to get to know, and there's room for these things to wake up, and there's room for me to avoid putting my restlessness into their faces and tell myself they are disappointed and too restless to hear what we might have to say to each other. And I suspect that the things we have to say to each other will be very loud in the bigger picture of things, and that this room is made for those things to be spoken out loud. But I can't know them tonight, all I can know is that it's not up to me to understand, but to stay in the room. My eyes are too cloudy from crying over a dog that I will miss. There is always a dog or a cat who has to leave before a story can start, and it's not up to me why that is, I'm only tracing patterns in the dirt with my foot, and wishing for something in the dark, even if I forget that the river knows everything, because the moon already told her, and we get to live in these rooms lit by moonlight, glitter in our eyes and something very loud that's waiting to be spoken.
Is exactly what I said (more or less).
((It probably was nothing like that at all)).
And the three spirits of white light around my head said, "No."
They said, "No, you are wrong, but it might be easier for you to think that you're right, just because you like it when the narration changes inside your head, because that makes you feel like you're moving forward, but this is all moving forward whether you know it or not, and it really doesn't matter if you know it or not anymore."
I wanted this resolved, however, because it was too much to resolve. I wanted a new story, not because these stories weren't interesting any more, but because all of the characters in these stories are tied, their hands are tied, and there's nothing that anyone can do, and in times like these, I would much prefer to leave them altogether, because I have a habit of waiting in a room where nothing is happening for much too long, and by the time I leave, nothing has been happening for so long that the figures have turned from flesh into magazine pin-up versions of what they were, and the pages are so worn that I can't even see the sparks in the eyes, and the faces look like they are disappointed in me, and sorry for me because I waited for so long when there was nothing to wait for. This is how I have learned how to respond when my hands are tied for a very long time. This is how I respond when I watch someone who's hands are tied for a very long time.
But they said, "No, because in this case, you are wrong, especially about that one, and now you just have to wait because it's cycling, and you can't really know what the cycle even is until you go through it, but you won't be alone."
I didn't want to admit that I really just didn't want to be alone for another New Year's Eve, and I was hoping that I could leave just long enough to find a date for New Year's Eve. And I'm getting tired of my own narrator, the one who stays in the same story for too long, and longer, way after there is nothing left to tell in the story.
But they kept repeating that this story is the one that I wanted to be in for a very long time, and it would not unfold smoothly, but it would unfold beautifully, because I put it in a boat in the river, and the river knows what to do with the wishes of solitary lovers who have been sprinkled with glitter from the moon when they are asleep and dreaming.
There was a dog. Before today, there was a dog. It belonged to the Boy I take care of, a beautiful dog who was already old, and I understood that something miraculous was going to take place that day. I also understood that this was the day that I was going to see the Boy, and visit the dog, and that this would not be the last time I saw the Boy, not at all, but that after today, the dog would not be there, and I didn't want to say goodbye.
But you have to say goodbye, because that is the cycle, and it's not up to me to decide where we are in the cycle, and when the dog has to go, she will just go, and it's up to me to be there and say goodbye, and that's what I would have to live through. And before I said goodbye to the dog, there was advice, and the advice was, "Maybe you don't have to understand anything right now, there's enough going on in your life that you no longer have to understand, because it's something that's just happening to you right now, and you can understand it later on." But the advice didn't come to me, it came from my mouth, and I was saying it to someone who has been in my head for a very long time, it came out of my mouth but I think the three spirits of white light were speaking it because they were using me.
And so it's like that. And maybe it's something miraculous. Because the room inside my head is not the same room I woke up in, but I've suspected I would be in this room for a long time, I was just not sure when that would happen, or when it would happen to me.
And I'm not broken or lost in this room, it seems like a place I would like to get to know, and there's room for these things to wake up, and there's room for me to avoid putting my restlessness into their faces and tell myself they are disappointed and too restless to hear what we might have to say to each other. And I suspect that the things we have to say to each other will be very loud in the bigger picture of things, and that this room is made for those things to be spoken out loud. But I can't know them tonight, all I can know is that it's not up to me to understand, but to stay in the room. My eyes are too cloudy from crying over a dog that I will miss. There is always a dog or a cat who has to leave before a story can start, and it's not up to me why that is, I'm only tracing patterns in the dirt with my foot, and wishing for something in the dark, even if I forget that the river knows everything, because the moon already told her, and we get to live in these rooms lit by moonlight, glitter in our eyes and something very loud that's waiting to be spoken.
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