28 June 2002: Wonderful All Along

Morning. Last night I dreamed I was playing with some friends in a museum of sorts, racing through the halls and doing Contact Improv and playing games of tag in the galleries. Lexicat was there, because how could she not be, and because Lexicat is home for a visit and I get to see her tomorrow so I’ve got Lexicat on the brain. But in my dream, she was in a wheelchair. She’d been unable to walk for as long as I’d known her. She still managed to be as fun as ever to play with. Her wheelchair was some sort of ultralight racing chair, great maneuverability and turning radius... a stunt chair. But anyway, she was just starting to be able to walk a little bit, recovering from whatever had confined her to the chair. I didn’t know this until she got up at one point, while we were all romping around, and took a few clumsy steps. And then I was so happy, knowing that Lexicat was going to be able to walk again soon. I was so happy for her. And then I woke up, and remembered that Lexicat isn’t in a wheelchair at all, and that she can already walk, not to mention leap and caper. And then I was even happier.

It’s easy to be happy when something changes for the better; it’s harder to remember to be happy about the things that have been wonderful all along.

The good cheer of these first two journal entries makes an interesting contrast with the bleak tone of the material currently posted in the Poems section of this site. The journal entries are a more accurate reflection of my current direction; the poems are thorny black roses sprouted from old shed skins that have had time to compost into dark fecundity. Art is the farming of the soil from which one has arisen.