2024年4月6日
I dreamt I was made out of silver, fluid silver, like mercury. In the cosmos. And I felt one.
I have not been too active in this dimensional reality lately. Physical pain and stress lately. But this is only a state of transformation.
2024年3月21日
Suffering and pain is part of the human journey and our existence. How we cope with pain and suffering is our own choice. Gentle angels follow us around, maybe some with swords for protection. Nature deities watch the ebb and flow of humanity over time. Today was a day of pain and suffering. Dropping to my knees in tears that hit the floor like rain droplets off of a leaf. There is a moment, or moments when the brain acts in self preservation. Sometimes through horrific sights, there is an illumination of humanity. There is an illumination of human mortal fragility - that yes, of course you know - everyone must come to the inevitable. But, when you stare it in the face, it reminds you. You are face to face with it. The raw ache of death, saying - yes, I linger here and there. But be not afraid. Do not fear. This suffering is a part of the course.
I certainly am sedated. There is a vase of fresh flowers on the table. But the sky is now dark, and the room is blue and inky. The mind is self preserving. Protecting. I await to wake tomorrow and to see the flowers flush in their own colors.
There are two quotes from the same book I would like to place here.
“In joy or sadness, flowers are our constant friends.”
― Okakura Kakuzo, The Book of Tea
“Tell me, gentle flowers, teardrops of the stars, standing in the garden, nodding your heads to the bees as they sing of the dews and the sunbeams, are you aware of the fearful doom that awaits you? Dream on, sway and frolic while you may in the gentle breezes of summer. To- morrow a ruthless hand will close around your throats. You will be wrenched, torn asunder limb by limb, and borne away from your quiet homes. The wretch, she may be passing fair. She may say how lovely you are while her fingers are still moist with your blood. Tell me, will this be kindness? It may be your fate to be imprisoned in the hair of one whom you know to be heartless or to be thrust into the buttonhole of one who would not dare to look you in the face were you a man. It may even be your lot to be confined in some narrow vessel with only stagnant water to quench the maddening thirst that warns of ebbing life.”
― Kakuzō Okakura, The Book of Tea
2024年3月11日
Flights and hotel booked for my trip in July. So excited!
2024年3月7日
The physical form is tired. Exhausted. But not the mind. Angel communication. Angel channel. Understanding the "self". Past life self locking eyes with me in the mirror. Guardians. Tonight I will sleep deeply. I still think about the dream of the imp tied up before I could enter the forest that would fuse with my mind, body, soul, and memories that he wanted me to frolic through. The crowd, the rope around his arms. Yes, he was kneeling and they had tied his arms behind him. He looked at me with disdain. Almost a purplish blue tone to him and pointed ears. Trickery. Where did the crowd come from that detained him, I do not know. But I knew they wanted me to be safe. I have to look deeper. The soul travels within slumber. Like I previously state - even if dreams are mundane to you, such as daily life - look for signs. Look for the signs. Trust.
Hermit. Solitude. The sky changing colors. Hello planet Earth - this living, breathing, organism that we know of as a planet, fusing with other worlds. How dreamy...
2024年3月6日
Waving clouds of incense around. Heavenly flame. Light.
And the whole world opens itself up, and you can see all of the joy, love, cruelty, pain, and possibilities.
Auspicious dream fragments. Like sand. But they do not slip through the fingers. Rather, put in a mental glass vase. One by one.
Smile.
2024年3月4日
Keep having deja vu.
Deja vu.
Deja vu.
Strange dreams... finding objects that could not exist in real life, forms merging and creating anew. A dream, a very intimate one, with celestial alien beings. To become one with the universe or extraterrestrials?... Everything feels like a dream lately. I feel that the reality that I live in, or that you, who is reading this, lives in - are bordering on fantastical realms that we get a glimpse of in between the doors of perception within slumber. When I have deja vu, I feel I am in the right time, right place. I read that someone said that somewhere else, but I cannot remember who said that. Going to bed in a heated blanket. Pulling the covers over my head. The sun lately has been so bright I can barely look around, or the clouds gray everything into monochrome. I am beginning to understand some things. What about the noosphere, what about collective consciousness. Global brain. Opte project. Lifting a veil. I want to drink dew from the grass and flowers...
2024年2月16日
To live within art, to live within poetry. For your life to be art, life to be poetry, life to be an orchestra. To die poetically. Thoughts like waves on a shore, ebbing in and out.
I had a dream that I was in a forest retreat, and there was a little hut with a nice lady who was selling tea cups. They were all earthenware and very beautiful. A man handed me a pamphlet about the forest retreat. It stated that the forest would fuse and mingle with my mind, my memories, my thoughts, and my soul as I walked through it. For some reason, he was detained by people who came out of the blue. He looked at me with disdain. There was trickery about him. Maybe angels were coming to my need.
Tonight it will snow, and snow a lot. I will stay up late to watch the first snowflakes come down, and it seems to be a nice time for tea.
2024年2月2日
Dreamt about large dragon decorated floats, like floating airships, they were larger than an entire forest, some sort of parade for some emperor. 5 days ago I drank a lot of tea, and got 'tea drunk', or overwhelmingly relaxed from the amount of tea I drank. Two types of Ivan tea for the first time (fireweed tea), two types of black tea, and then a cup of matcha. On that day I ate a big croissant that had almond lfavored cream inside with dark chocolate and butter on top. I felt glowing, positive, throughout the whole day. Happy to be alive.
3 days ago, I drove by rolling hills of white. Gray fog drifting, naked trees sprouting up like trails of walnut ink. The whole world in a sphere of mist.
Recently, the snow that layered the hard Earth has melted. The grass grows a deep olive color, and everything is still gray - besides the occasional evening with a warm winter sun aglow with fiery hues. Lately life has been a blur, a good blur though. Still sedated and languid, but mixed in with proper routine. I write this as I put on hair perfume scented like a rose after a rainstorm, moisturized my skin with shea butter, rosehip oil, and camellia seed oil. Climbed into bed feeling fresh and clean. It is late into the night, or should I say: early in the morning. I purchased tickets for the cinema a day or so ago. I enjoy outings. The film was so amazing that I sobbed and wept in the car going home. I could hardly contain myself. I was bursting with tears. It affected me deeply.
I had another dream. This one was strange. I was in a hallucinogenic world. There was a woman declaring "I am not into that whole thing". "You know... the act." "I want to feel all of the emotions." Explaining what she was talking about would be very convoluted. If you have known a situation to what she is talking about, then you are aware. She enjoys what is real, and she disliked what was not real, but sometimes the not real is real. I still wish to go back to the realm where it looked like a landscape depicted in the golden age of Saturn.
2024年1月20日
Sedated. Languid. Leaning back in my chair slowly. Putting on a paste perfume made with Daphne flowers and slowly rubbing my wrists together. The warmth from the slow movement allows the scent to bloom. I put it on the bottom of my neck. Body heat. Get up, slowly walk to the kitchen. I take the kettle gently off the stove and onto the countertop, lifting the lid. To the right of me is a shelf with multiple caddies, each painted with their own designs. The one I am choosing today is a black tea caddy with trees and birds. Inside is a new batch of fresh genmaicha. Putting the leaves into the water into the kettle, turning on the stove. I love the sound of the gas stove being turned on. The crackle. The scent of toasted rice and green tea leaves fill the kitchen. I turn around and read a bit on the wooden countertop. Sleepy.
2024年1月19日
I made a snowman today. The little snowman is quite small, but I made him with love. I am quite proud of the little snowman. I slept in this morning, and waking up briefly, I pulled the covers over my head, enveloping myself in darkness. I keep having intense dreams but immediately I forget them when I wake, like drinking a potion of forgetfulness. I even purchased a tiny notebook with a pen attached for my bedside table to write them down. I must start doing that immediately, even half-asleep.
I spoke to someone today who I am friends with, they are busy so I do not get to speak to them much, but we spoke about their poetry, and they were not even sure I ever read their poems. In a way, it saddened me. Every poem they wrote I absolutely adored and maybe read it a couple times over. I suppose sometimes you do not know how much people care, and I wish I could elaborate how much I care, but I cannot. I feel that my inherent nature is being shy, or aloof.
A song today brought up memories of a warm summer, while now it is deep in winter, with snow blanketing the Earth in it's sweet silence. It is sacred memory to me. I walked with an old friend through this forest, and they told me "Nobody knows about this place. This is the first time I've brought someone here." With each step under the moss and dirt, we reached a deep river. We set our bags down. The air was hot, humid. We took off our clothes to reveal our swimsuits and walked into the water, soft mud combined with twigs stuck out in the shore area. Then it dropped off. I remember being a bit scared, treading water with the vast abyss below my toes, feeling fish swim by. But minutes later I was diving underneath, coming up for air and pushing my hair back out of my eyes. When you are in that river, both of the sides are shrouded by trees, but there is a large opening for the sunlight to bask through. You could hear birds chirping and the various sounds of wildlife moving leaves around. Then, there was a silence. I looked at my friend, and I just remember them saying "Wow" at me. I don't know why they said wow. I remember blushing. After swimming around and holding on to the edge of the shore to catch breath because we were tired from treading water. We swam to the shore again, going through the dirt. Sitting on a blanket, and they opened a bottle of wine. They took out a tin container and filled it with river water, their ink, stretched out, and started painting something on their sketchbook with the ink and river water. We kept taking sips of wine back and forth in the humid river bank. Another silence. I laid back on the ground and looked at the tree canopy above me with sunlight trickling through.
"Look over there, shh."There was an otter silently swimming, making gentle ripples in the water. I had never seen an otter swim before in front of my own eyes. Then I got up slowly after the otter passed, and looked over to the right. Next to the dirt covered shore there was a clearing in the forest with tall, dew covered grasses. As I stood up, about 4-5 cranes slowly flapped their wings and went up into the golden air. Flying as if into the heavens. Wine drunk and dazed, it felt like paradise. The residual river water beads dripping down my skin and drying, the soft sound of the brush on paper, insects buzzing. Walking back, the sun set very quickly. "What if we got lost?" they said. "That might be fun." I said. I will never be able to return there, because I forget how to get there, and I don't know that person anymore. It is a memory encapsulated in my mind forever.
Pluto, the planet of death, rebirth and destruction will be out of it's phase in Capricorn tomorrow. Pluto in Capricorn will not happen for another 200+ years. 2024 is a year of renewal and life. I feel it, I feel it stirring within me.
2024年1月15日
It is snowing so much. I went out and watched the flakes in the gray sky scatter all around. I walked and trudged through the snow, hearing it crunch under my boots. I made a snow angel, and then rolled down a hill about 5-6 times. My throat hurts from laughing so much and my face hurts from smiling so much. This winter is the best winter I have had in years. I treasure every moment.
2024年1月13日
Last night, the power went out 3 times in a row, and each time, there was a loud blue explosion outside. Lightning touched the ground multiple times. It turns out that lightning struck a large tree, and the tree broke in half and fell onto a vehicle. It was quite scary to see the lights go on, then a large sound, and for them to go off again, over and over. I feel sleepy, but it is okay, I slept for many hours last night. I have been quite tired lately.
2024年1月11日
Showers and baths are my haven. Washing with a sea sponge, the soap is scented with roses. For a deeper scrub, I use a long handled brush made with steamed oak and horsehair. I finished Anna Karenina a week ago. It made me cry, made my heart sing, and above all, a sense of sublime, even though in itself it is a very sad novel. It is bittersweet. It is a book about love, not a love story. I also watched two films: The Mirror and Stalker by Andrei Tarkovsky. I am still thinking about them. They are like wispy dreams, glimpses into the subconscious. Many praise The Mirror as his magnum opus, but I believe Stalker is. I feel the need to write a stream of consciousness sort of essay on his films, but I am already working on one about dreams. So it will have to wait, but that is good so I can gather my thoughts more carefully.
At work today I read a bit of a book, named 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei. Here is a quote that I have been thinking about from the preface:
Great poetry lives in a state of perpetual transformation, perpetual translation: the poem dies when it has no place to go.In the mornings with the deep icy air, going up into the mountains there is a hanging fog around the canopy of trees. It seems to sigh and moan with the sun rising. This morning there was no blue, milky fog. Only the bright light of the sun illuminating stray towers to a lead white, and the forest, a yellow ochre. Now I must sleep, so I can see the sun rise again.