I'm setting it down on dry earth and also in words because I have them. I have them to reach and to bombard. I have them to ache and writhe and burst forth.

Dreams can so often be the beautiful illustration of something less than beautiful in our daily lives. Recently I've been trampled by messages from my brain, from my heart, from my soul... the messages are clear and have me crippled with the truth. It can be such a burden when you have no way to act... no way to escape.

These little reprieves will only get me so far. These little hideaway "islands" for evading the giant are just stepping stones in my liberation. I am surprised my dreams have not, as of late, included a certain frame shop in my history of home sweet homes. No need to dream of it, I suppose, when the image arises almost daily. Frames, working with my hands, working with art. Just about the time I feel I need to understand something about my future my mind and heart leap toward this memorable sweet spot. It's a good thing Eugene had a race conference this evening, or he'd be giving me a very disapproving look right now. Something about grass being greener, and so on.

Just as we crawl and then walk and then crawl again, we always return to where we started. Like the universe collapsing in on itself, we run so far away to wind up right back where we started, a race to return to ourselves. And every day that I live and breathe and rejoice and lament, I feel my personal Big Crunch looming just ahead, and I hold tighter and tighter waiting for just the right time to let go.