Dream Log Entry: 11.19.10 "Help From The No One"

This is the run-down of a two part dream from the other night. I fell asleep early, woke up in the middle of the night, and went back to sleep again...only to wind up in a continuation of the first dream.


Part I:

I could hear them. Lots of them. Hundreds maybe. I could see a crowd of people swarming around me like bees  united for one central cause - yet they almost seemed to be transparent. I felt like I could have reached out my hand to them, and it would have went straight through their bodies.  Did they really exist?

No matter. They were all pleading to me. Women, children, men, old and young all gathered around me. I was surrounded; the center of an endless circle of people. People who were vocalizing their problems, no less.

"I can't understand you when you're all speaking to me at once," I tried to reason with them.

The voices grew louder and louder. I wasn't hearing them with my ears. I noticed instead that I was hearing them in my mind. Every last one of them. Not only did the voices originate from the people surrounding me, they seemed to also stem from people in other places in the world.

My head was throbbing with congestion from the scattered noise. I tried to focus my mind intently enough to pluck only one random voice out.

"Please help us..." I managed to make out amid the static. The statement came from a sickly looking middle-aged man. I wanted to help them. All of them, in fact...but at the moment I felt powerless. There were just so damned many of them.

"But I'm no one... " I whispered back in response.

I cupped my hands over my eyes and shrank into myself, "And I don't know how... "

The voice came to me, saying: This is what it's like... but fear not, for your light's much brighter than you realize. 


I woke up.



Part II: 


I saw them again. The same crowd. This time, they were smiling as they swarmed around me. They seemed to all be holding items in their hands.

"This is for you," the same sickly man from before said to me as he handed me a bundle of onions, beans and other vegetables.

"Thank you," a small child said to me as she handed me a bowl of fruit.

"I can't accept this. I don't know what I did..." I was confused. I had been there in the prior dream, returned to my own reality upon waking, and then returned here....to the same people...the same setting... though, in a continuation of the story somehow.

"You helped us," one of them said.

"Give her time. She doesn't know yet..." another stated. He was an elderly man. Blind-looking.

"At least take these then..." the sickly man (who actually wasn't sickly looking anymore) said to me, as he handed me some beans held together in a bag that resembled a fishing net. "I think you might like them."

I stared at them. They looked familiar. Where had  I seen them before?  I immediately knew that they were magic beans the second he handed them to me. . . but what kind of magic did they do?

"Yes, I think I will take these. Thank you so much." I bowed my head to him and the rest of the crowd.

Enter the voice: It will come to you. . . Sow the first seed. 

I woke up. . . again.

My dreams make me wonder who I truly am beneath this Kim suit, deep down at the core...

- kj

The Heart's Heart-To-Heart - 11.08.10

I recognize the fact that you're ready to embrace the notion of love again. I even understand the burning desire for companionship, intimacy and meaningful displays of affection.

But let's not shower it on just any ol' body. Let's love someone who's deserving of it.

Be patient.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 11.07.10 "The Caterpillar's Secret"

Circumstance is a muthafuya with dreams, who struggles with the difficulty of executing them on account of the barricades of a reality that deadens them. Such is the nature of your fight/plight. There is great pain in becoming. . . 

These are the last words I recall upon waking. It was the voice again, trailing off into the distance of the subconscious realm.

I do not remember the details of last night's dream, save for the above. What I do know is that I arose feeling like a lab rat in a maze. I wondered what course life would ultimately take me on; wondered what it's all for. What would the outcome be?

Am I truly in control...or out of it?

I thought about all the hindrances I'd ever experienced, the deaths of loved ones who would've been a strong support system, and how it seemed as if the harder I fought, the more losses & blockages there were.

I reflected on how I've been traveling this long winding road (sun in tow) mate-less, at times car-less & penniless...at one point, a step away from homelessness...and how life has always seemed to continuously strip me bare of material entrapments at the very moment that I had finally gained/re-gained even the smallest semblance of "things" after reoccurring seasons of loss.

What is the point of it all? I can't help wondering now. I'd like to get a least a fraction of a fraction of a glimpse into the grand scheme that I am but a minuscule player in. I don't think it's unreasonable to ask that of the powers that be.

The voice's statement seems to imply the undergoing of some form of preparation in my case. But preparation for what?

I can attest to the pains of constant change first-hand. Growth, it seems, involves a series of deaths/re-births or destructive/re-constructive motions. A butterfly must die as a caterpillar before it is reborn as a butterfly. I must remind myself of that from time to time. For if it can do that, then surely I can submit to my own processing. Heck, since resistance is futile, it's as if I must anyway.

But the million dollar questions that plague me on days like today are.... What is it all for? What is the sum of this divine equation? And what exactly am I becoming?

I have been wondering lately if the answer to that last question is: not at all what I (or anyone else) thought I'd be... And the uncertainty and twinge of doubt therein is a formidable thing to bout with.


Wonder if the first caterpillar was privy to the end of its story when it instinctively wrapped itself inside a cocoon for metamorphosis and came out as something else.

What were its thoughts while in the chrysalis stage? Were they similar to my own, now that I'm in hermit mode? What secrets did it tell the others about its experience?

Did it ever question Mother Nature or undergo the process with a mis-perception of what it was to be because no one told it otherwise? Did it go willingly? Or was it just forced to change?


Some have said in the past, that I should stop thinking so much about it all and just go with the flow. Have faith and tread blindly, they mean. How many of them actually follow that advice when they find themselves faced with unknowns and fork-in-road moments though? Ebb/flow is a cliche' in conscious circles that is hard to embody. So, it is human nature to wonder. Or perhaps, just mine. For, I always have.

Always questioned. Always dug much deeper than I should.  Always held my tongue or safeguarded that side of myself from people who would never understand the extent of my pondering. Always gone to great lengths to tone it down in order to achieve some sense of normalcy. Always looked into a person's eyes and saw far more than what they projected outwardly.  Always looked into the midnight sky and wondered if there were beings on other planets staring at their own midnight skies wondering the same things as me.

I was created curious. I can remember being so since as far back as my oldest memory of myself. It all has to be for a reason. Maybe the caterpillar knows.

Confound that voice.






- kj

Pillow Scream - 11.05.10

At 5:10pm my Microsoft Office, Oracle, other miscellaneous web-based company applications and hell...generally every program that I needed to conclude my day crashed on me. I threw my hands up in agony and disgust, grabbed my purse, locked my file cabinet, and left. Tasks unfinished.

Detoured to the grocery store on the way home.  I was all smiles since the check-out lines looked pretty clear going in. That excitement proved to be premature. I gathered the 8 items I needed and headed for the lines, only to find all of them magically full.

Where in grocery shopping hell did those extra people come from?  I paced for a moment, until I found the shortest route. Lucky # 7. . . Or so I thought. 

Sweet little old black lady who looked not a day over 95 is in line #7. The cashier is nearly done ringing up her items. Grandma digs in her purse - preparing to pay, I assumed. Wrong again. She whips out like 500 coupons and sifts through them with maddening slowness.

Indian guy behind me utters something in his native language that I'm pretty sure translated into: Oh, HELL naw!!! and abruptly sits his hand-held basket of items on the floor, leaves the line, and exits the store.

I should have followed suit. . . but I wanted --- no needed ---- my crab spinach dip, granola bars, assortment of fruit, berry punch, etc. I'll be damned if I made this trip for nothing. So, I remain a trooper. I wait patiently...fuming inside though. Patience is not my strong suit. At least not when waiting or lines are involved.

She's still sifting through coupons and handing select ones to the cashier while I watch with great sadness as the other lanes move steadily and their numbers dwindle. 5 minutes later, she pays.

Finally!

Premature again.

She shows the cashier the receipt and asks about toilet tissue and turkeys. Neither of which are in either of the two baskets of excessive crap that she has her grandson (presumably) guarding at the edge of the lane. I want to leave the line, but my curiosity overpowered my impatience at that point. I couldn't move. I was in shock.

She tells the cashier... "Well, I want to go and pick up one of those turkeys. I want to buy one."

The cashier (a young high school aged sista) tries to maintain her composure, though she's clearly frustrated too, I can't imagine how long this elder had been checking out prior to me walking up. "Okay, I understand. I can have one of the baggers get one for you, but maam, I need to ring up the rest of these people. You'll have to get back in the line", she told her politely.

The elder snapped back, "Well hell...that's okay then. I don't really want it no how. It ain't even Thanksgiving yet..." and with that, she snatches the receipt, slings the basket around, signals to her grandson, and exits the store.

At last, it's my turn.

10 minutes later, I'm home. I turn the key to the front door, the lock clicks smoothly, and I turn the handle. Fail.

The sun took the liberty of locking the top lock - despite me telling him 1,000 times not to ever do that prior to me getting home. I bang on the door for about 5 minutes straight........ Nothing. Freaking great. He's sleep. I just know it. 


He was. 

I can hear Sir Fredrick barking "Wake up, fool. You better get up and let her in or she's gonna be pissed..." in chihuahua language. Smart dog. I sat on the steps and tried not to blow a gasket. Breathe in. Breathe out.

20 minutes later.... 

I get up, descend the stairs, go around to the sun's bedroom window, toss a small rock at it hoping to get his attention... the rock cracks the window. Perfect.

I go back to the stairs, ascend them again, bang on the front door -- as loudly as the police would, putting my knuckles into it.

This time, he opens the door. His eyes, red from deep slumber. Mine, red with fury.

I was too defeated to be angry though. I put up the groceries, took a shower, grabbed my sushi, closed my door, looked at the ceiling (symbolic of the sky), shook my head, picked up my laptop...and started typing. Otherwise, I'da killed somebody.

Friday night insanity.

Pillow scream.

- kj

Lessons from Meditation - 10.31.10 "Baby Mama Earth"

I got lost in meditation earlier. My thoughts took me to who knows where.  I am learning to let them take the steering wheel sometimes without filtering them.

Some of the imagery used to be startling when I began practicing this calming art (meditation), and I would often find myself wanting to alter and censor what I saw. There was always this need to dress it up, make it more favorable or more to my liking.

As a result, I couldn't lose myself or embrace the stillness of it. Had to learn to "get lost in space..." (c) Radio Galaxy... lol.  Thus, I am slowly learning to let go of the desire for the misconception that is the controlling of one's thoughts. Instead, I'd just like to master them. That is, understand them somehow...Make peace with them and receive their offerings of wisdom and expression. Not wrestle them to the ground and subdue them with brute force.

Anyway, while there (wherever "there" was/is), the divine voice accompanied me. It seemed to be my tour guide, or teacher if you will, taking the lead as images flashed before me. As we floated in space, it showed me Earth from a distance...and then Earth became a small fragile egg in a vast womb.

An object hit it (a comet perhaps or a spacecraft traveling at unfathomable speed), and there was a trail of light behind it that looked like a tail from afar. There was a ripple effect - in effect, how water looks when a pebble is tossed into it. A vibration. The scene in its totality was reminiscent of a sperm making its way to a woman's egg for fertilization. And with that, the planet was pregnant with numerous life forms.

They began as tiny beings in the waters (amniotic fluid). Then, when they broke out of the water, they began to crawl, and then walk on land, until they were full fledged upright citizens - the you and me's of today. The babies had grown up right before me within a few seconds it seemed. Both amazing and bewildering to behold their gestation and development alongside the earth's.

It is a musical note whose vibration carries on, climbing level after level. Thoughts becoming real birthing more thoughts that become real, all eventualities running parallel to one another in a waltz of continuum. Creative creations creating as their Creator has - which makes them creators too. A cycle that serves as the epitome of being fruitful and multiplying oneself. Do you see?, the voice said.

"Yes. . . and I'd like to see more...I am open", I replied.

In due time, budding soul. In due time... and with that, our trip ended.

I came out of my trance...counting backwards slowly from 10 to 1, still poised lotus-style, feet and toes tingling with numbness now.  I wondered how long I'd been under.

I grabbed something to write with.


- kj

Random Musings: "Space Monkeys In People Suits"

Just when you think you've got yourself all sussed out, the dawning realization of the futility of your efforts laughs at you.

"You're getting much warmer, yet you're not even close", it seems to say mockingly.  "One can not grasp completely what is always expanding and ever-changing."

So, it's like pin-pointing the center of something that has no definite beginning or end, is it?  We do that a lot. Or at least, profess to...

We want to believe in something. Want to know something. Need to know. We hope to place our hands upon definite evidence, to grasp it, and possess it. Maybe even call it our own... and not have it turn out to be a Truman Show styled hoax at the end of the day.

We are Pinocchios that want to be real. We have something to prove to confirm our own existence; a proverbial pinch to ensure we are awake. Belting "Hear me. See me...I am...I have conquered...", in child-like voices.

We search for proof of life in our reflections on some mornings. But that is not you smiling as you've been taught to and waving cordially back in the mirror there.

No, that dear heart, is your human suit. Your space apparel fashioned for form and functionality in the physical realm. It is the outfit you can not live [earth life] without.

What's wearing it is any man's guess...


- kj

Dream Log Entry: 10.14.10 "I Ain't Afraid'a No Ghost..."

While flipping channels, I came across a talk show that struck me as odd.  Can't recall what they were discussing, but I settled on the station. 

The man and woman on-screen seemed to be speaking directly to me. Whatever they were saying, they were surprised that I understood them. 

I inched closer to the television set, and the woman whispered to the man, "Look...I told you she can see us. She has the eyes."

I thought my ears were deceiving me. She couldn't have said that. She couldn't possibly be watching me as I watched them. 

 They both seemed shocked with a slight hint of relief. I didn't understand why yet. But I would soon. Very soon. 

"Tell the others," the man instructed her. She straightened her posture, adjusted her shirt collar and brushed imaginary lint off of her sleeves.  Then she began. 

"To all of you that can hear me... We found her. She knows...and she can sense us. Go to her." she announced. I was confused, but I shrugged it off. They went off air. I cut off the t.v. and laid down on the bed. 

Suddenly, I felt movement in the empty bed space next to me. I looked over to find the sheets moving and the bed sinking in slightly as if someone had just climbed in with me. I thought I could faintly make out an outline of someone sitting upright peering down at me. I tried to swallow my fear. 

He . . . she. . . it? signaled to another shadow of a person standing at the foot of the bed and remarked, "What they said was true. She really can sense us." 

And with that, a large hoard of them started walking through the doorway of my bedroom and they gathered around my bed to stare at me. I heard one of them say, "I didn't think they could sense us....but this one can..."  They all marveled at the fact. 

When one of them reached out and gently touched my face, I jerked with fright into an upright sitting position both in the dream and in reality. 

*cue my alarm clock* 

- kj

Dream Log Entry: 10.13.10 "Him, The Underground & Lift Offs"

Here are my dreams from the past few days, or rather as much of them as I am able to recall this far after the fact. Should've documented them sooner. There are pieces missing, I'm sure. But even the most minute particles of memory hold within their fragmented selves a thread of validity to contribute to the quilt.

A'ight. The rundown, as concise and bare as possible:

10.11.10

Him again. We talked. I have no idea what about. "I'm testing your strength and staying power..." he said. That's all that stands out.

10.12.10

Me and a group of friends (of which he was a part of) were trapped in a dark tunnel underground. The number 50 stands out. I don't know why. 50 feet under the earth, I think.

As we maneuvered through the tunnel, it started to resemble an abandoned, dimly lit parking garage - each level presenting us with a different obstacle to surpass. Someone asked, "How the hell will we ever get out of here?" No one knew. No one offered a response.

I noticed a huge crack in one of the walls, and as I examined it more closely, I noticed that it formed a pattern...a shape of some kind. I traced its edges with my fingertips and then stepped back to get a broader view. It was in the shape of a Grammy award, I thought. The moment I realized what it was, light began emanating through the cracks and the shape began to move out of its place in the wall and the ground shook violently.

Suddenly, the divine voice spoke to me, and this time the group heard it too. "You've toiled in the background for so long... Now comes light. Heal through song," it said.

The light got brighter. It covered me. "Go now. This is your 'out'..." the voice instructed.

I didn't know where I was going. But I followed the light and walked through the wall. The group followed. We got out. Destination unknown; but by golly...we got out.

10.13.10 

As a means of rewarding our efforts & artistic achievements as native Houstonians who positively represented the essence of Space City, the city of Houston and NASA joined forces and invited me and the fellas on a trip to accompany its astronauts to the moon. We had to endure a couple of weeks of training in preparation for our adventure.

Fast forward to that fateful day. We boarded the space shuttle, doubling over in nervous excitement. The big guy was sweating. The other tried to look composed to conceal anxiety. I worried mostly about the fact that we were physically going to be OFF THE PLANET and the sun would be back at home... back on that blue ball that would fade into the distance... back on the earth we'd always known...without me.

The countdown was already underway, and I hadn't noticed with my mind focused so intensely on that last thought. There was a huge rumbling as lift off began. No sooner than we exited the earth's atmosphere did something hit the space ship! The fury of the slam tossed us about like rag dolls and when we regained composure, me and the fellas looked wide-eyed. We all panicked.

"Oh sh*t, we're gonna die! I knew we shouldn't have done this!" one of them yelled. (I'm not at liberty to say which one) . . .Although this sentiment was the general consensus among the three of us, he blurted it out first.  lol!

"How do we contact earth?! I need to call my baby! If this is what it's gonna be, I can't go out without saying goodbye to him." I said, in a voice of helpless resignation. There was nothing any of us could have done to help ourselves in the middle of nowhere, literally. So optimism was bull crap at this point. Or so we thought.

The crew leader communicated with the base in Houston, explaining what had happened. Then he came to explain it to us. He reassured us that this is experienced sometimes in space flight. We had simply encountered a small scattered meteor shower. A tiny meteorite had nicked the ship, but caused no real damage. We would all be fine.

The trip continued. The ride was bumpy at certain points. We laughed at ourselves for freaking out.

We made it to the moon and back perfectly in tact.


- kj

Becoming Write - 10.06.10

I have nothing worthwhile to type or say. No subject in mind. No pre-packaged idea. No dream to relay.  No. . . destination. I am adrift in a boat with no row in the primordial sea of thought. My fingers move of their own volition. Only spirit and mind dance now. I willingly submit.

When I close my eyes, I am naked unto myself. Formless. Nameless. I am not Pam's daughter, Kim, Zeni's mama, or any of my aliases. I am timeless. Genderless.  An oddity enveloped by the surrounding darkness. No one special. Nothing more than a fetus cushioned by abysmal waters; oblivious to the chaos that prevails outside its own.

Space is the womb. But whose? Am I a merely a planet, and how does one become the Sun? Better yet, how did I birthed one?

Why do computer chips resemble aerial views of cities? Was that intentional?

Could I be the proverbial insect in a divine ant farm, overseen by gods or aliens alike who observe our lives for either entertainment or self-comprehension? Who are the producers and creators of Earth: The Reality Show? How are the ratings? Who's the star?

Perhaps I'm the distant ancestor of an atom (adam) that loaned its riboflavin (rib) to catalyze evolution (eve).  My questions are often pebble tosses into a lake that ripples on and on and on and on and...on...in endless continuum. Too cerebral, by far.

Still, today I am humble. I hope to remain so in the tomorrows that follow.

Today I am as curious as I was yesterday. Curiosity killed the cat. But I am not one in this lifetime. I walk upright in this incarnation.

Today. . . in this moment. . . I am whole. One. Connected. Attuned. Picking up signals in all directions.  At peace with all that I assume I am, and all that I proclaim I am not.

Yes, sailing in a sea of constant becoming.

 If you're coming. . . well. . . open your eyes.



- kj

Dream Log Entry - 10.05.10 "Makes No Sense At All"

I became conscious of the fact that I was dreaming when she knocked on the door. It was Erykah Badu. No, I don't know her personally...but apparently, the other me does. Either that, or she symbolizes someone in my life that reminds me of her - or maybe an energy that I've made peace with even. Dream language has meanings that extend across numerous dimensions; so one never quite knows.

We hugged and exchanged pleasantries. She asked what I was cooking. I advised that I was just about to heat up the rest of some homemade veggie soup I'd concocted. She grabbed a bowl off the table and replied, "Oh now, you gon' have to share that." We laughed.

My sisters were in the kitchen heating up their portions of the soup as well. For them, I'd prepared various side dishes to choose from too.  I encouraged them all to help themselves to either of the two cakes on the table that a good friend had made for me. They did. No hesitation at all, as if they'd been waiting for me to give them the green light so they wouldn't have to ask.

We sat around, eating and talking as women do. Female bonding. Sharing stories and experiences. The energy in the room was strong. My place smelled of food and patchouli. One of my sisters kept butting into a conversation that Badu and I were engaged in. I reminded her that it was rude. She relented before leaving the table, "Sorry...just can't believe she's here...in your apartment."

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. We all ceased our actions and conversations. I was annoyed, "I'm not expecting anybody. Hope the neighbors didn't see you come in [Erykah], and now they're coming for autographs and such. Wanted you to be able to chill in peace."

I shuffled along to the front door, expecting to see a group of nosey birds with cameras poised, anxious to catch a glimpse of the person that they were sure was Badu.  I braced myself and got ready to block them from barging into my spot. . . but for naught. I was wrong. Instead, it was him. Again. Popping up as he always does.

I opened the door and smiled in relief. "Oh, it's just you. I thought you were someone else."

"Why?" he looked confused.

"Well. . . because. . . " I signaled to Badu. "Look who's here."

"Ahhh, I see," he walked over to hug her. "How've you been maam? Good seeing you again. What brings you down here?" She explained she had a spur-of-the-moment show at a secret location in Houston and wanted to drop in to see her people first. Apparently, we both were friends with her on the other side.

He looked at me, "Hey you...Didn't mean to pop up like this. Don't be mad. Got off of work early and wanted to talk to you in person about something. You got a sec?"

"Well, I kinda have company right now. Can it wait til later on maybe?" I reminded him.

"Well... I mean... I just thought... well, I guess I should've called first...Can't expect for you to just not have your own stuff going on, right?... " he fumbled.

Badu interjected, "It's okay sis. Me and the girls are gonna go hang out for a while. We'll be back... You stay here and have that talk. It's overdue." She winked and smiled.

They left. I locked the door behind them.

We sat there for a moment in silence. The imagery had become so vivid and life-like that I could almost reach out and touch him and he wouldn't have disappeared, faded to vapor or morphed into something else like most dream figures do. The kicker was that I could clearly smell his scent. It seemed more pronounced now than when he first walked in. It was familiar. Where had I smelled it before? I couldn't recall, and that bothered me.

Finally, he began to speak. It was garbled. I couldn't make it out. Whatever he was saying, it seemed sincere enough. Of all the senses that had suddenly been magnified, why did the one I needed most at this moment  decide to fail me?! My hearing grew lower and lower as he spilled his guts to me about whatever it was that he had to express so immediately. His words faded into a whisper.

The divine voice came to me through the rubble - always arriving with its lesson or riddle. It said: Much will be shared, but how do you expect to receive it when you're standing so far away in that fortress. Get out of there. Come closer. . . 

Botswana.

His scent grew even stronger. Still no sound. At least I remembered where'd I'd smelled the aroma before at that point. I closed my eyes, swallowed my nervousness, took a deep breath,  and inhaled a strong whiff of that signature scent in the dream.

Then, I woke up in reality. . . to a nose bleed.

The universe got jokes 'n whatnot.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.10.10 "Death of a Rapper"

There was a Breaking News flash. Rapper Lil' Wayne had died.

One of those crappy MTVBETVH1 "Story of Lil Wayne" type of specials was on the idiot box.  Some male friends and I were watching it together. I was the only girl in the room. I shook my head in disagreement at much of what was being said.

Just as they were discussing his drug habits, his perceived inadequacies, and his failures in their eyes, some old footage of Wayne as a young pre-teen was played. How timely.

It displayed him (high as a kite) talking about his parents - or the lack thereof.  The dudes in the room nodded their heads and signaled to the TV. "See! Look at this nigga, man...A waste," one of them validated.

Wayne touched on how he was a product of his environment. He explained how many like him can only express what they absorbed; what they were fed; what they saw everyday; what they heard. The point being, in so many words, what life deposits into a person is what that person spits out in return.

"This is my way of expressing that shit... " he said, after exhaling a puff of smoke.

The special continued on. They fast forwarded to a more recent clip of him as an adult. In it, he was high to the point of incoherence. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I remember that he started to get emotional and teary-eyed. Finally, I heard him mumble, "If I could do anything differently, I don't think I would. . . or could. I think I'm who I was supposed to be. I think I did what I was supposed to do."

He paused. The off-screen interviewer waited. Wayne needed a moment. "Hey, cut the camera off," he managed finally.

The dudes in the room dismissed his comments in the clip as bullshit. I intervened. My two cents: "Say what you want, but he still made a HUGE impact on millions of people. And whether you deem it positive or negative, it's both...because it could be either one to anyone in the world. " 

"Please. Buffoonery. He could've been great," one of them protested.

"He was... Maybe not to you. But he was [great]. And relevant in the eyes of millions, no less. If you could've done what he did, better than him, you would have. But you didn't. You have your own mission to accomplish instead; your own part to play." I rebutted.

At once, the voice I've come to know so well, and even expect, was audible once more.

It whispered: Every contribution is valid. Every expression's a puzzle piece. Every message will reach who it is intended to reach.

I woke up. Late.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.07.10 "The Da Vinci Mode"

"You know the deadline is near. Where's your painting, Jefferson?" a female voice said to me.

"What painting? I just got added to this class. I didn't know that was an assignment. Can't you give me an extension, if only for that reason?", I pleaded.

"No. You're capable of catching up...and so much more...," she insisted. I hated how she implied things without finishing the thought. What was the secret to the and so much more?

"But that's not fair. I wouldn't have had nearly as much time as them. Mine'll be crappy and thrown together as a result," I expressed while looking around the room at the other students' works of art in progress.

Many of them were intricate portraits of people, places, things. One of them, a fairly common-looking oil painting with no real spark to it, was of a saxophone with a red ribbon tied around it. I imagined it was Charlie Parker's, though it may not have been. I thought the red ribbon looked a lot like the HIV awareness one, and if this was not the message the artist was conveying, I thought about how it would surely be misconstrued as such. I wanted to tell the painter my theory, but thought the awareness message was better. People should think that's what it was. I would have called it "Raw Jizz Jazz". How cynical and inappropriate of me.

Another, a dark depiction of the face of a very sullen-looking woman, seemed to have eyes that peered right through me and made me want to ask it "why so sad?".  I imagined she was a gypsy or some southern creole slave with no name that mattered. Perhaps she was overworked -- like me -- and longed to dance barefoot in the rain. Probably completely off center with my guess there as well. I remember saying to myself in the dream, I always see something other than the obvious or the intended in everything.

"Fine. It'll be done. . . ", a surrender in a no-win situation, after much delay. I turned to the teacher (whose face I could not see), and sighed.

"That's more like it. You can do this..." she reassured me. I hate motivators, too. I wanted to be a jerk. YOU DO IT, THEN.

"By the deadline though. . .?" I whined instead. How rhetorical. I knew the unyielding answer - times infinity.

"Yes. A body of work. By the deadline," she emphasized with gritted teeth.  She didn't have to stress the point, I thought.

"And I assure you, it'll be a masterpiece, young Da Vinci." she reinforced, with a smile in her voice that knew many things that I am not privy to.


My alarm clock intervened in reality. I woke up thinking: Oh. Right. Work. Ugh. (Expletive). 


- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.04.10

Memory has betrayed me as it pertains to the details of last night's whirlwind of night visions. Only about 2 random things stand out. Random is an understatement by the way, but it's my favorite word. I'll use it as I please (out of context or not), and you'll say nothing against it. Ahem.

Here are the 2 things:

• In one dream, I was being interviewed by the good people at MTV. They were asking me how I felt about being an artist who doubles as a writer & director (?) for other artists as well.  Lauren Hill popped up at MTV headquarters and chimed in during the interview, offering me some encouragement. "Pick up where I left off. Continue the mission," she said. I woke up at 3am. 

• Upon falling asleep again, I dreamed I was attending some sort of event at Rice U, and I was responding to the flirtatious advances of a really charming Asian dude with crazy hair like Goku. (#random shrug...lol)

Dreams are awesome. Can I get some of this action going in my waking life, already? Geez.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.01.10

I've been slacking on documenting my dreams, as you may have deduced by the dwindling and/or insufficient number of entries regarding them. That's not to say I haven't been dreaming. I always do.  Several times a night, in fact.

There was a different male figure in them this time though, acting in the place of the usual star player.  Perhaps on the other side (dream land, that is) the story of the other me's life is shifting.  The new actor is someone I do know pretty well in my waking life this time, and who is actually a friend.

I won't go into the details, because they're a little too personal to share. However, I get the feeling that the dream world is attempting to elude to the fact that there are some underlying themes in my waking life that I should take notice of as it relates to this person. Usually there is a flicker of "something" in reality that is synonymous with the subconscious realm; a barely noticeable connection tying the two. . .

I'll keep my eyes peeled and remain open & observant. I'm not the best at detecting subtle hints by any means, but if you point me in the right direction, I'm on the scent with the precision of a blood hound.  Even in silent inconspicuousness.  No, not even. Especially so.


- kj

Chore Shrug

There is a mountain of clothes staring at me in the corner of my room. Sir Fredrick climbed it earlier. Must be some chihuahua humor I've not yet learned to appreciate. Jerk.

The new dish washing liquid I purchased a week ago says it's supposed to soften my hands with each use. Is that some twisted form of motivation to get me to wash dishes more? Epic fail.

Laundry is the devil. Doing the dishes is its concubine. They can all kick rocks tonight.

Where is the Rosie robot maid from The Jetsons when you need her?


-kj

Possible Impossibilities #1

When the sun was no more than a few months old, I dreamed we were visiting my grandmother's house. The family there is thoroughly indoctrinated and devoutly Christian. Assume what you will here. Read between the lines.

So anyway, in the dream, I lay my little one down on the couch to sleep, and join a conversation about who-knows-what with my kin. While slumbering, the sun begins to physically levitate in his sleep, lifting as much as 8 or 9 inches off of the couch. 

My family is in shock. They all watch in silent awe and slight disgust, until one of them breaks the silence and asks "Kim what have you been teaching him? This is wrong. People are not supposed to do that."

I reply, "I teach him he can be anything. . . do anything. That there are no limits. I teach him to question, to explore, and to defy the odds. . . to fly." 

The relative who broke the silence shakes her head and says "That is a sin against God. People can't fly. You're going to Hell."

I pick up the sun and leave. Then, I wake up. 

Fast forward to yesterday. The sun (who is now a budding young 6th grader) and I are spending quality time together. He initiates a random conversation out of the blue (as he so often does) about whatever's on his mind at the moment. This time, it is about his dreams. 

"Oh mama...." (the way he always starts the conversation when he's been dying to tell me something but until that point had not been able to find the right words to do so)..."I had this weird dream. Well, I think it was a dream. It seemed like I was awake though. I could see everything in the room. But I fell asleep right here on the floor last night while I was watching TV, and then I just started floating a few inches off the floor. I didn't want to move, because I thought I would fall down. It seemed real. . .Has that happened to you before?" 

I remembered my dream from years ago then. I'd never shared any of them with him.  Guess this is a sign that it's time to start.  I rummaged through tablet upon tablet of old notes and scattered thoughts with dust collected on them to find where I'd written that one down. I had to be sure I wasn't imagining things. 

Found it. I wasn't. I shared it with him. 

I spent the rest of yesterday in somewhat of a quiet contemplative state, wandering aimlessly about the possibilities of the impossible...like "flying" when you're hard-wired to believe you can not. 

Or is it a safer practice to not partake in that fruit? 

- kj

The Technolution Will Not Be Televised

Technology is the most progressive hinderance of all time.  Convenience breeds laziness, I believe. The gadgetry of our day makes us do incredibly idiotic things, like text someone you're sitting in the same room with or forget what 12 x 12 = because you've always had some tool to compute it for you.  And you think nothing of it.  I of course am no exception.

What if one day our endless array of electronics realized their own power and decided to revolt? What if that iPod, iPhone, iPad, etc suddenly had a spark of independent thought? What if -- instead of silently bending to our commands and following orders to access our info, play our music, dial this person or that one, compile & house data for this or that end -- it one day said "no more"?

As of late, I've had day-dreams of technology developing a sense of superiority and maximizing on its innate ability to captivate us so. And I wonder if their revolution will be televised...or if the television sets will have gone on strike that day.



- kj

Free Association (Or Something Like It)

The mind's a funny thing. Or perhaps, mine is. I carve out time here & there to get lost in it. It's a Bermuda Triangle. Point of no return, even.

I play connect-the-dots with concepts that seem totally unrelated with the same ease an Aquarius uses to steer a conversation far left. No longer poised at its original ball park post, incessant subject jumping serves as the captain of that ship eventually. (Dodging the bullets I foresee coming from that statement; though it's all in good fun...sorta.)

Anyway, as it happens, I remember the oddest scenes & quotes from motion pictures, songs, and even from the never-ending movie reel of life.  In fact, tonight's thoughts shifted somehow to a line about "free association writing" taken from The Sixth Sense by M. Knight Shamalamasomething. It's the part where the psychologist (played by actor Bruce Willis) asks Cole (Haley Joel Osment): "Do you know what free association writing is, Cole? A psychological expression referring to the act of just writing down (or saying) whatever thoughts or ideas comes to your mind."

How'd my mind skip to that? Who knows? But it's there...work with me. I digress. I often do. (Ahem).

I enjoy the art of finding the tiniest fraction of a similarity in naked-eye view dissimilarities and expanding on it. I figure, in the grand scheme, even nonsense has to make some sense.  That said, if I understand the concept of free association writing to even the slightest degree, it seems to be an activity that flirts with the idea of letting the psyche go psycho and then assigning meaning to it. Evaluating it. Dissecting it. Analyzing the thought processes behind it. Giving gibberish relevance. Following where it leads. Kinda what I do here in this blog. I never know what direction I'm headed in or what point will be proven. I just type continuously until my hands/fingers feel slightly carpal tunnelish.

No but seriously... It's a brilliant way to pull thoughts, ideas, repressed feelings, etc. that you never knew existed to the forefront so that you can confront and/or acknowledge them.  To ensure effectiveness, you simply let the thoughts flow freely - as the technique title implies - and avoid the conditioned human urge to censor yourself or think before writing or speaking.

Think I'll give it a go and see what comes out. Couldn't hurt. I'll try anything thrice. Anything within reason, that is <---- There I go with that friggin' programmed desire to censor and edit myself.

Soon.
- kj

Dream Log Entry - 08.16.10

While floating in mid air next to a male figure whose name, face, features and overall identity I wasn't allowed to see,  I seemed to be enthralled in a discussion with him about how to increase one's power. Furthermore, the direction of the debate had taken a turn so that it was then centered around which of us was the more powerful one.  

For whatever reason, in this dream we were in cartoon form. Nothing more than animated caricatures of ourselves. Colorful and vivid, we appeared to be noticeably passionate about whatever point it was that we were trying to prove to one another.

Then out of nowhere, the voice spoke to me as it so often does...saying, "Your power, albeit great, can only be increased by giving. Only by freely sharing the energy you both already possess will you be able to receive new, and far more abundant, energy..."

Enter, my alarm clock and that familiar jolt back into this mundane reality once more. Another piece of the puzzle collected. . .


- kj

Dream Log Entry - 08.15.10

There is not much that I recall about the beginning of this dream aside from the fact that falling asleep felt akin to sinking into a dark hole where countless images of random people, places & things were coming toward me at high speed.

The next thing I can vividly recall was the voice that always accompanies me in my dreams telling me "the act of sleeping is the same as dialing in...when you're dreaming, you're having a waking life experience on the other side."

I understood that to mean: when I am asleep in this reality, I am instead awake, alive, breathing and fully conscious in dream land. And conversely, when I'm sleeping in dream land, that is when I rise to the sound of my alarm clock as this waking life version of me and go about my daily routine (work, school, chores, etc) - all of which is nothing more than a dream to the other me.

Sleep seems to be a bridge between the two dimensions, and who I am in both is equally real. The dream me has a life of her own. She has a son just like me, though her occupation is not the same. She's either deeply in love or seemingly romantically involved with a person I don't really even know in my waking life. I want to learn more about her (the other me). . .I am almost covetous of my own alternate life in that realm.

But what happens if waking life me & dream land me meet face-to-face? Thus far, it seems we're only subconscious observers of one another. Will a meeting cause a shift in the balance of whatever version of reality I'm in at the time?  And who is the owner of that informative, yet familiar, voice in my dreams? Is it God? A dream land tour guide of sorts? My higher self?

I will continue to collect my pieces of the divine jigsaw, by logging as many dream experiences as I can recall each day. Perhaps someday it'll all make sense and the "big collage" will be complete...or it'll form a cohesive theme, at the very least.

There are so many, many, many parallels.... (c) Radio Galaxy


- kj

foreseer, web-weaver or neither?

many family members, friends and acquaintances have come to know me over time as a woman who has an odd ability to foresee future events playing out in her dreams.  later, in a time unforeseen unfortunately, these events manifest to a very noticeable degree in waking life (reality).

am i a fortune-teller/precog? or am i simply an idea planter who needs merely a fraction of an opening in the minds eye? what do i believe?

i'm never absolutely certain of anything, to tell you the truth. simply put though, i've heard it said (and don't quote me on this): the present dies every moment, becoming the past instantly. future upon future upon future is birthed as this cycle continues infinitely. that makes sense and strikes a chord somewhere with me. so, i'll call it an agreed upon truth . . . for now. . . hey, i'm changeable. so's the universe.

that in mind, i don't believe that i dream definite realities. instead, i think i dream potential realities. furthermore, as the subject of my dreams, one's footsteps in the "now" breathe life into them. they are nothing without the subject's buy-in. the subject has the power ultimately; the power of choice.

step forward with the knowledge of what has been divulged. . . or walk in a new direction to change it. i don't make the choice. i only see some of the options.

the end. <- or is there a such thing?

- kj

motha ugh this...

there are times when raw expression is sufficient enough for me, and the formation of words into complete sentences devoid of all the grammatical errors, yet affixed with dainty literary trimmings for surface intellectual effect, means diddly squat. 


instead, there is only the feeling, the passion, the thought itself. unclothed. unabridged. fluffless. this is one of those times.  


so fuck profundity, imposed standards (that i don't care to live up to), the spider web of existence, the quest to assign meaning to anything in an effort to define unknowns, and the cyclic nothingness of the daily corporate dead-end 9 to 5 world. 


life as of late has been the chaos channel on an HD TV set i'd like to turn off. a good "ugh!!!" and the tossing of a meditation pillow across my living room is all i have left in me.


dear tomorrow: can u let me hold a lil solace for a sec...? i know u got it on ya. i'm good for it.

self delusion

latent lullabies slipping from tongues of potentiality

a realization i don't care to reach

lest the stride to strive subsides

belly of omniscience

thou hast weaved a spiraled pathway for me

stargate traveler

dreams unraveled

only to collide with reality

babbling then. . .

reflected on lessons from adolescence

bean sprout blessings

mistakes not thrice repeated

though twice. . .from 2nd guessing

 third eye needs a good Windexin'

sonum bonum mission

dispelled myths like "bliss" and

save for those self-created scripts

all else = blips

and

cyber glitches

critics critique abstract art

oblivious to what's depicted

just like they'll shit on this

i am

defiant red on dirty white

a splatter on society's canvas

dandruff on the head & shoulders of a dime-of-a-damsel

a flaw on the flaw of a flaw

star wars war scars

microwave generation bred

slow to thaw

neo-souls in suspended animation

masturbating to modern saviors

applauding the cessation

of accountability for self

nigga preachers taught me well

fat off 'dat jesus wealth

judge not, lest you incite your own death

"i'm different" declarations're trendy now

so, i'm just like everyone else...