Sometimes its just better to turn on the light.
I once lived on a mystic island. Honestly, and much to the disbelief of my previous incarnations, I rarely think about it anymore as it was - as a place, yes, but as an experience, not so much. Like when I lived on an enchanted mountain, the nostalgia grew too heavy and I found it too difficult to move forward while carrying its weight. You can't stay in love with bygone eras anymore than you can with wandering souls. But every now and then it creeps into my mind, and at four in the morning, I quite welcome it. What else am I going to be doing with myself at four in the morning? Dream recollection is the order of the hour, after all.
My life has become stiff and rigid the past few years. "Reality" will become calcified if I am not careful. With three (or even four) celestial bodies swimming around the 12th house at the time I was born, and a big, swollen Pisces moon, this is a very bad thing for me. My mind has stopped feeling so free since I've relinquished some of my literal freedom in the name of romance and stability; I suppose that makes perfect sense but it came as an unwelcome side effect no less. Sorrow, which, to be honest, I rather appreciate, plays much less of a role in my life. Tension of many kinds has stepped up to the replace it, though not nearly in quality or quantity - I had a real good thing going with sorrow for a very, very long time. These are things I am trying to change, but there still seem to be some missing ingredients, and whether they are or my soul or of the world is still beyond me.
But at the time that I was living on my mystic island, high up in the San Juans on the border of the Great North, I had a totally different set of preoccupations (love sickness, anxious aimlessness), and a whole witches brew of strengths that I sometimes fear I have lost (waking dreams, tentative but honest vulnerability, full on psychic powers). A rare blend of isolation and time-sensitivity provided an opportunity for me to be true to myself like never before. I could feel the build-up before the release, beginning with my first trip to Peru, and the let down following it, the doors closing up once again when I left Portland in 2010. Not even when I was in Seattle that year could I pry my heart open as much as it was. Often, in retrospect, I find much of the emotionalism, over-generosity, and esoteric sensationalism that I gushed in the islands with an almost needy desperation embarrassing, yet I know that I have never been truer and never felt better. The rewards I reaped for exposing myself to such a degree were profound levels of awareness of unseen things rivaled only by those of my childhood self, a tremendous, bitter-sweet sense of the poetry of life, and an fleeting sense of being accepted by those around me.
But at the time that I was living on my mystic island, high up in the San Juans on the border of the Great North, I had a totally different set of preoccupations (love sickness, anxious aimlessness), and a whole witches brew of strengths that I sometimes fear I have lost (waking dreams, tentative but honest vulnerability, full on psychic powers). A rare blend of isolation and time-sensitivity provided an opportunity for me to be true to myself like never before. I could feel the build-up before the release, beginning with my first trip to Peru, and the let down following it, the doors closing up once again when I left Portland in 2010. Not even when I was in Seattle that year could I pry my heart open as much as it was. Often, in retrospect, I find much of the emotionalism, over-generosity, and esoteric sensationalism that I gushed in the islands with an almost needy desperation embarrassing, yet I know that I have never been truer and never felt better. The rewards I reaped for exposing myself to such a degree were profound levels of awareness of unseen things rivaled only by those of my childhood self, a tremendous, bitter-sweet sense of the poetry of life, and an fleeting sense of being accepted by those around me.
Because of the indescribable horror dreams of my last trip to Peru, I've been forced to see my growing skepticism and hardness for what it is: a product of living in a town over-fixated on the hard-sciences and over-saturated with atheists. One of my biggest weaknesses is smiling and nodding when I couldn't agree less; I have no idea how to break this habit tactfully. I become what surrounds me, whether I can relate to it or not. I vacillate between a wish to escape this place and the burdensome realization that the truth can only be found within and it matters not where you are and who you are with. I know that it is up to me to reconnect with my essential nature - and to be honest about it, no matter how afraid I am to expose myself now days. If I am going to be a good mother, I have to do these things, for motherhood to me, even more so than a social matter and far, FAR more than a strictly biological affair, is an immensely spiritual thing, necessitating above all generosity, vulnerability, and some serious psychic intuitive powers for sure.
My love and I are planning a trip to the islands this spring. I'll give another nod to the fact that the place is not the time, but regardless: mystic islands are mystic islands and that's good enough for me.
My love and I are planning a trip to the islands this spring. I'll give another nod to the fact that the place is not the time, but regardless: mystic islands are mystic islands and that's good enough for me.
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