recurring dream.[i also ate lots of cheese]

I have recurring dreams that usually have something to do with swimming competitively. I mean, at least once a month.

Last night's dream began as most of them do with the swimmers on the blocks... as you do. Take your marks! (I did, like a cat waiting to pounce.) I love the look of an Olympic sized pool, so blue, so still, stretching out in front of you, waiting to be messed up like a clean bed with fresh linens. I'm waiting for the buzzer... for the reflexes to snap and dive; instead, however, I heard a splash. False start. Clearly there would be a restart. But, there wasn't. All in a matter of fractions of seconds, so and so takes off in a sprint, the buzzer goes off, we all glance at each other, realize the officials are just letting this all go amiss, and one by one we dive in. I was one of the last off the block, and it almost seemed like I really woke up in the water, all Inception style and whatnot. I was trying to remember what stroke I was supposed to be doing, unsure whether it was butterfly or free-style. I nearly did a flutter-kick which would've gotten me disqualified, but I remembered, butterfly, managed to pull off a not so good streamline, nonetheless, and dolphin kick for my life!

I was so frustrated to be off to a bad start...

...or dead last.

I took my first stroke and I was already exhausted. It felt impossible. I was way in over my head. But I kept moving.

I kept pulling... hard.

flip.

turn.

There are those moments when you're digging deep, pulling out every ounce of energy you really don't have. Like that weird tingly feeling before passing out, and your insides are turning to mush, and you think you might be sick, and at any moment your arms, legs, heart, body is going to cave no matter how much you tell it to MOVE! A feeling of being so heavy and weightless all at the very same time. The cool water felt hot, and it was a struggle to keep the breathing pattern, tempted to breathe on every stroke. My ears were ringing in the crash of the water, but my eyes are fixed on the wall.

And the next thing I know, in my peripheral view, I'm moving past each person and end up at the front of my heat. Wait, what?

Then, came the split second calculation of whether to glide into the wall with a kick or to do one last stroke. I'd rather not underestimate with a glide, so I pulled. The middle of my forearms ready to collide with the wall, but I managed to control the impact. I take that first breath, and look around, realizing I'd finished first!

But, instead of the adrenaline rush of winning and wanting to do a happy dance or fist pump, I felt overwhelmed with emotion and just wanted to cry tears of relief, mostly... and maybe some sort of happiness that I hadn't given up. The race started unfairly... I was exhausted from the moment I began. It looked impossible to even place at all... I would've been happy to finish. But, I finished... and finished strong. And in the end, it didn't matter how crappy it started, because the result was in my favor. I didn't quit. And moments like that make me want to cry... it's so beautiful to reach the other side of a deep struggle. When the outcome is good, in fact, better than expected. When you can say, it was all made good... that redemption won out in the end... it mattered... no more disappointment.

I didn't even realize just how much I feel like this in my life right now until writing this all out. I'm tired of being strong. I'm absolutely exhausted in every way that one can be. I feel like I'm teetering over the line of giving out, no matter how hard I push. My mental, emotional, spiritual, and even physical muscles are starting to spasm... There's a ringing in my ears... the roar of the waves around me... But, my eyes are fixed. I'm not entirely sure where the finish line is, but I keep moving. One day at a time. Keep pulling one day at a time. Hoping the outcome will make it all worth it... that love and redemption does win.

undertones.

It's really the only time I sleep well...

But then again, there's an excitement pitter-pattering

Like an undertow pulling my dreams along,

a bit closer to the surface of consciousness

Because I don't want to forget the feeling of nearness

And I'll wake a little annoyed with the alarm clock

A little annoyed with the daylight

Because I wish it was the middle of the night, and it would just hold a bit longer

I don't want this moment to slip past

Nothing is promised, and I sure cannot predict the future

But I hope, oh how I hope

Like a tiny little bird bravely singing in the witching hours.

He's bathed in morning light

And it's my favorite part of waking up early

Handsome in one of those classic ways that isn't really based on opinion

Pupils dilate, and there's the swell of the strings in the orchestra

Gentle crescendo

I have to hold my breath

It's all that I can do not to let the words escape

So I slip out quietly before I'm pulled in to his undeniable gravitational pull

pull

pull

Slip away into the tasks of the day

So hard to close the door

And hold it down

And hold it in

But it's undeniable

Coursing at such great speed just beneath the placid surface

but in the still of the night it sings

like a tiny bird in the witching hours...

echoing through the heart valves

each pulse...

sometimes tender

sometimes strong

sometimes raging

sometimes a desperate cry

and sometimes only a whisper

always singing

always true

"Oh how, I love this man."

lento.

slowly but surely it wakes you up

the drowsiness draining from the cup

slowly but surely you're all aware

of the emptiness; of all that isn't there

and it beats with a throbbing like native drums

and it tells you to get up, just get up and run

but frozen like waters in northern lakes

can't stop the crash or find the brakes

and when least expected it wraps all around

hold your breath, don't move, don't make a sound

lest you chase it away, lest it up and leave

and the rising and falling;

the chest will heave

dearly beloved, replenish the wine

dearly departed, i'll tell you it's fine

and the tears flow out with the blood of the vine

in the tender release of all that was mine

pale thin line. [get up or lay down]

if you were very still, as a child in a classroom

trying so very hard to listen and didn't fidget...

you might hear it.

you might.

the sound is almost imperceptible.

but you'll see it...

just a vivid white line trailing behind a piece of chalk.

i like the way the dust spills just outside of the hardened line,

like a whisper of rebellion reminding that it isn't ever one or the other.

it might seem so, but really it mostly isn't.

one side feels incredibly wild and open;

wide and deep and ripe with the magic of the woods at night.

the other side is a bright city

pulsing.

and you enter the city limits speeding

like some raging pain recklessly driving

leaving track marks

and soon you're disappearing in plain sight

and dancing around the room through the sway

you find it and put it in your bloodstream

and before you know it,

it seeps through your pores

this coat of protection

and right there the pain stops

your mind races to lovely things

switch. on.

off.

on.

off.

on.

it's all the same.

quand meme, darling.

and like bathing in a delicious apathy.

dirty feet and hands

couldn't care less

just languid little happy life in a goldfish bowl

and they think you're at your most beautiful then, don't they?

when you take the form of some gypsy and disappear

it's fascinating living as a ghost

eyes hollow and always, always smiling

all wrapped up in clean white sheets

but dirty and black eyes and skinny like a model

it's all ashes and blood and bones and smoke

and some broken song

go faster

go slower

it doesn't matter, just keep moving.

one will catch up.

just move until the pain or the painkiller wins.

one will win. they always do.

and you'll stop moving. you'll just cease.

it will go terribly wrong and it will cease.

and the pain will engulf you like a black hole.

so crawl back, if there's time left on your side to that jagged little line

on the other side...

it's something so beautiful,

but it hurts like hell
the magic of the woods at night is met with the terror of the unknown

and you feel every single pulse

every single memory

every single one

even when you sleep

wide awake singing hymns in the middle of the night

looking fear dead in the face while it shakes you

walking straight through some valley of the shadow of death

and it's never quite the way the words sound

pure suffering

and clinging to some invisible hand of hope that most often

feels like nothing more than air

but you keep moving

you keep singing from inside where you believe

just move until that love wins
because it always will.

and peace is the pulse
and healing invades

and then the morning comes...

act i - it's ok

the curtain rises

and the performance is award winning

and i'm so lost in the role that i've convinced myself

convinced myself

i'm going mad

counting down for doctor's visits

because they make medications

to tell the storm to be still

to make the roaring a little less loud

because i'm not certain of walking on water

and i'm not certain of sailing this ship

those in the know put their cards on the table

and turn them

turn them

turn them.

i waited to hear whether to keep the bridges in tact

or to simply

burn them

burn them

learn from them.

i'll not lift a hand to strike

i'll not allow my mouth to curse

i'll not wish an ill

just the turning of will

just the opening of eyes

just the healing of wounds

and as you walk up from the basement

your prayers will multiply

and you'll see me waiting

on the other side

absence.

i lost my love.

so, i'm kind of working that out.

in the meantime...

my best friend is getting married.

and last night i was dreaming about planning her wedding with her and other girlfriends.

i was also obsessed with having the recipe for and indulging in a bushwacker from 3 crow. i mean, obsessed.

i'm working on a new musical project... i like movement. even if it's slow, it's far better than doldrums any day.

i've also realised that after all this time, i'm beginning to find my voice. as a result, i'm almost anxious to re-record a bunch of songs.

you know what's funny? much of the time we long so desperately to know the future. we want to skip to the end of the book, or at least the end of this section just to make sure that it turns out ok. but, the thing is, that most of us who are truly in love with the story will have to keep reading it all the way through no matter what. and you'll find yourself wondering if the outcome will change, because the build-up is so incredibly delicious... it is as though the author is begging the reader, if you will, to keep hoping when the story is shrouded in mystery and doubt.

God, give me style and give me grace... and put a smile upon my face.