I dream't of a boy with an evil grin
Here at the Ocean, just before Spring
We walked by the sea, my hand in his
We danced in the sand, and under the moon we kissed

I dream't of a man who made me feel safe
Held me close, and wrapped me in joy
And in my dream it wasn't a ploy;

I dream't a dream that was so serene
I was sad to wake, and discover my mistake.
I dream't of a boy with smiling eyes,
but when I awoke, it was all just lies.

I dream't a dream that he came to me,
hand in hand we walked by the sea
In my dream I was not forgotten,
or tossed aside like a used-up toy,
In my dream I was his girl and he was my boy.

My fears and disappointment were all washed clean away,
He proved to me that to him I wasn’t just for play;
He asked if he should go, but I wanted him to stay.

I dream't last night that he really did care,
I just didn’t know it,
Because he wasn’t there
When I awoke I was lonely and sad,

Sometimes good dreams are really really bad.

The weather has reflected my thoughts and emotions this week. I adore the congruency with which it does so. It is seemingly attuned, or am I? This day, when I woke up it was a beautiful spring day here on the Oregon coast.

Taking Orion out for his morning walk, I noted the newly budding leaves on my roses, reminding me that although they'd been ripped from their homes in the ground, transplanted into confining containers, and hauled across the Pacific Northwest, still they continue to thrive, waiting for blooms in their transient resting spot. Regardless of their location or orientation, they persist, waiting patiently for the misleadling sunny days to warm, as do I.

With no blooms yet, they seemed somehow lonely, so in the cool dew of morning, I began the process of adding early blooming primroses, violets and pansies amidst the slow mid-summer blooming foliage of the roses. Happy to be outside, happy to be nurturing and growing, happy to be alive. With much delight, I noticed the hyacinth, tulips and irises sprouting their new growth as well. Everything truely wonderful, though, is slow to bloom. The pansies and violets are instantly pretty, but the most wonderful and delightfully fragrant flowers are always much slower; a good mix is just right for me. I hum a line from my favorite U2 song, "Life should be fragrant, rooftop to the basement."

In the midst of adding my carefully chosen hot-house violets and pansies, complete with velvety purple and yellow blooms, to their new homes, dirt under my fingernails, on my face and in my hair, and just about mid-way through the potting, the day went with sudden velocity from sunny blue skies to an on-pour of hail, in a matter of just moments. I had to throw my head back, letting each rocky piece of ice pelt down on my face, and laugh at the gods. Of course it did! How absolutely brilliant! Slap me again; it reminds me of how very much alive I am! A deep and evil laugh errupts from me, unsuspecting, catching even myself by suprise. Now I'm gardening in the hail, and loving the irony. My mind is not just a garden to be planted, but a field to be tilled.

I am a girl of many contradictions, and when circumstances conspire to remind me of this, I couldn't be more joyous. Home is where my heart is, and my heart is always in everything I do, superficial and hot-house forced, or deep and meaningful. With conviction, I finished planting just as the hail turned to a light drizzle, and I sat for a long time...long enough to become completely drenched, along with my new blooms, and letting my roots absorb the life giving nutrients, as did theirs. We live in a beautiful world, this day, I am happily reminded of this.

Sometimes that's all that needs to be said. Why do I always try to hold on to the good parts for too long, and let the ugly things pass too easily, and with such little regard? Is it my blessing or my curse?

I've read the answer to this in his words, but I'm saddened by it, miffed with it; and yet intrigued by it. I know what Krishnamurti would tell me, and he seems to be more genuinely interested in my well-being than He does. I don't care to be a statistic, nor a reeces monkey, left in a cage to do as it will. And if he won't care to play with me, than I shall find someone who will. It's not a difficult prospect, and though he may possess many of the traits that could have made for something incredible--he lacks vital ones.

This life is too short to wait for unknowns, non-comittments, and further let downs. It's too short to wait on no-shows, and of far too much value to be set aside as a decor item. If one can not be entirely tolerant, nor walk the good road, then one must pause at the crossroads, and proceed to move along in any direction. Standing there is of little value, if any... Do something. Do anything. Even if it's not the right thing; it's better than nothing.

He must not have understood the treasure he had found in me. And I must have really over-estimated the value of his worth. Too bad. But you know, every new begining from some other begining's end. I think I'm going to begin my own photography business. I need a love to pour myself into that is rewarding back to me, and worth my while.

Sooooo. Today's theme song: "Thanks, that was fun. No regrets. Cept maybe one, made a deal not to feel. God, that was dumb. Everybody knows the deal fell through. I was hoping I could just blame you. This sentimentality doesn't look good on me, I thought that you would be begging to be with me, now I'm the one on my knees {no longer} begging you please won't you stay. Deflated and jaded. I hate it when you call, which isn't at all."

In closing, I agree, the action's positive value must be weighed against it's negative consequence, and in this case it's fallen far too short. Good project, good luck!

Or perhaps... better spoken: Voluntas Eius.

I do not ask the street lamp to shed its light on me; nor would it if I did, no matter the confection I could muster. It will simply shine its light from the position which it holds; and my own journey should be felicitous to pass through its path if then it lights my way.

Asking it to bend a bit, that I might be privy to that which is yet dark and undiscovered, an obsurd--obscene!--notion. I could not argue its staunch, nor would my plea be answered with anything less than disappointment.

And why should I wish it to be any way its not? It is what it is, and who would I be to ask of it anything other? A silly girl, indeed!

So then, I am to stand in its light readily and with great endurance; the sun shall rise, and its impassioned light will show that which the lamp does not. In the early morning dawn when the day begins to wake, and raises me with it, my desitiny too will shine. For now, I shall seek my assuagement in the anchored glow of the lamp; because it is the only way--because it is His Will.