Under the tree, framed by green, stands my red dream, tempting, whispering; “come and get me and your happiness will be fully never-ever-ending”. The Godess of dreams is telling me: “you will be feeling full and hole if you can reach me…”
Myself in a safe, unreachable distance, standing in my “aftertouringshit” (at least it’s my own shit) longing for something to grasp for in a darkening world. I love to long for the dream. In a way it is a calming and a soothening place to stand in the shade, intensively stretching for something red and glossy….no courage is needed for that.
Where is happiness? What is my task? Where am I?
I am reading Jeanette Winterson’s; Why be happy when you could be normal? All this life-fighting and all this love for stories, the words are the rescuing heroes, is taking a grip on my heart and twists it like a banana. Finding myself spiritually womiting and I don’t know if this reading will leave me as I was before. “I am a part of all that I have met” (Tennyson and Sylvia P). I haven’t been into that deep darkness where Jeanette has been…Oh, yes I have…but it was a while ago…my own custommade version…even though I hear melodies instead of voices…Maybe now’s the time to meet this darkness again, with the lights I’ve got….
“Poor little heart, did they forget thee —- Wind and Sun wilt thee array….” (Emily D)
Let me go out into the woods and be healed…let me be real…
Isn’t she lovely, the red one?