the opposite of time

there are no synonyms for

you; you are one of a


kind. in my dreams, it is

so clear: what i want.


it is the meeting of

body and mind.


my mind does not

leave my body; she


takes her along,

loves her the whole


stay. being asleep

is the real awake:


the opposite of time.


while not asleep,

i’m in my own way.


i hold my blueberry coffee;

i stand in the hospital corridor


with my throat shut. the

sickness perseverates


in the mouth, jaw,

throat, chest, gut;


the non-words

in duress.



is terror—


a forever



but in dreams,

it is made into


beauty: alchemy

as it should be.


i go to sleep under

a November tree,


between the

bright carpet


and brighter

hangings, and


meet you there.


snap shot 2

We remember and forget things on a daily basis. If we could retain everything we have ever remembered—or perhaps never forget it in the first place—we would be different beings. Forgetting may be a blessing—the mind’s way of coping with this insidious loop of existence. How else could we get up and do the same things over and over again? Maybe the forgetting was a curse. Or was it the remembering?

These thoughts came to Lee as she dragged herself once again out of her dreams, out of the deep remembering that came to her each night. She was usually in a forest, in a fog of stories without words, surrounded by things you just know in your bones, things that make you run and jump and fly and hunt. Things that let you escape humanity and become the elements that make up the dreams of others, that make up the universe. Things that don’t require bones but that know them to their core.

Upon waking, she could feel the familiar forgetting wrapping around her like a bathrobe. Sometimes it came in the form of a coffee cup or phone notification. She could have stayed in that wordless world forever—and maybe one of these times she would. But the crash of the recycling bins outside had jarred her out of sleep. At first it melded with her dream, and she was rushing to try to gather all of the bottles, boxes, and cans from the week to get them to the curb in time. There used to be many more bottles. She was trying to cut back.

She had fallen asleep in the living room again, beside the simmering fireplace, with the window cracked. It was like sleeping by a campfire, the contrast of the soft heat and cool air bringing her back to a place of childhood and longing. There was something addictive about a fire, the measured build of the elements as heat met paper met wood met air—the initial catch, the crackling increase, the leap of flames, the slow burn of embers. It was like a birth and a death—right at her fingertips—and it warmed the room beautifully.

Lee was avoiding her bedroom. She had been for weeks—ever since the holidays. The pillowy couch by the fireplace was only comfortable to a point, and then her back would start to ache. But something was keeping her from that room, from that big, firm bed. She thought she knew what, she thought she had it figured out, but then she would forget. In the meantime, she continued to make fires, sandwiches, phone calls.

She checked her phone, first for the time (and to see how many times she had hit snooze), and then for the regular dose of notifications. There were only a few this morning, nothing to really stimulate her to fully wake. She got distracted by a cat video and then a news parody, and found herself laughing before her coffee—which was rare. Not really laughing, but slightly snickering as she stretched and pulled herself up out of the couch cushions.

It was cold and overcast, and she sucked in the air as she gazed out the window. She could smell the eventual passing of winter, the tiny hint of spring, the desire to run through a field or chop some wood or take off in a canoe. Instead, she followed the well-worn path to the coffee maker.

The house would be as quiet as she wanted it. Sophie would sleep until noon. There was no school today. It was Martin Luther King Day.

I have a dream.


a good omen

This is my first blog post (not including Myspace, which I know many people discounted a long time ago — but that is for another blog post).

Beginning anything new can be daunting; I tend to circle around something before starting it, stalking and studying it, stripping it down and redressing it numerous times. Sadly, this sometimes destroys it, and it never becomes. So I will not dwell on this part.

I will instead talk about endings.

On my last day of a very involved and intense job of four years, we had an outdoor farewell gathering for myself and another colleague. As we enjoyed cookies and punch and shared highlights of our time together, this tiger swallowtail came to alight upon a tiger lily. It was the perfect meeting; a good omen as we said our goodbyes and thought about our next adventures.

butterfly pic

I do not know what my next adventure will be — yet another beginning to circle and stalk. I took this picture as a remembrance that the right things will meet together in the right time. My only job at the moment is to remain attentive, imaginative, and faith-full.

When a coworker asked me what I was going to do first with my free time, I quickly answered without really thinking, “Sleep!”

I am truly beginning to decompress and enjoy the first steps of this long and winding road of time, trying to remain guilt-free about the delicious hours of sleep, sun, reading (for pleasure!), writing, spending time with my daughter, and visiting with family.

I also have a long and winding to-do list, but it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. I have all the time in the world. ~