Dreams are made on

y first graduate school application was due today. With my night job of cleaning and my internship and Catholic initiation stuff I have been sort of busy, but that’s no excuse for not posting as often.

I kind of lost sight of what my blog means to me. I had seven blogs at one point this summer, and they were all separated and stood for different things. I was treating the internet like my numerous notebooks that I have. One is for poems, one is for songs, one is for journaling, one is for lists, one is for phone numbers. Walt Whitman wrote his first Leaves of Grass poem in the same notebook he was keeping for names and notes of his general life. Why separate all of these elements? Why was I hiding parts of myself from this blog? It was all urban planning all the time and that’s not what I focus on all the time. Because if I did, I would either be smashing cars with a baseball bat or bashing my own head in. It’s a frustrating subject. It’s stuck with me forever, it is what I’m made to do, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t frustrate me. So I imported my Pretty Darn Pretty blog into this one.

And I started to doubt the whole “little life” thing. I was worried that it was a reaction to depression, that if I were a happier person I would be more courageous and willing to live bigger and dream bigger. But I’m going to graduate school for the thing I most want to do. I don’t think I’m holding back for anything. Small and large are relative concepts, I guess. The biggest problems of the world are massively generalized. Hunger. Can you think of a bigger beast? We can wrack our brains and beat ourselves out of guilt,  just ignore it, or give food to the hungry people in our neighborhood. People have got to stop resorting to the “starving people in Africa” thing to make themselves grateful. It’s unfair to everyone.

Once we admit that we are small, our lives are small, are abilities are tiny, once we accept our ordinary-ness, we can do a lot. I find that once I break my weeks, days, hours up into moments and live in them, I am enjoying myself more.

A specific way I’ve been doing that is small art projects. I love creating things. I’m writing a novel right now, bit by bit, but in my time gaps between work and sleep and internship, I like make things that are beautiful to me. I’m really surprised at how happy it’s made me.

Joseph Gordon Levitt’s site, Hitrecord.org, is giving him a lot of joy. It’s apparent in his face every time he talks about it. He’s not trying to make loads of money or save the entire world, but his project has gone pretty far (Hitrecord is going to Sundance next year) and it’s genuine.

Adam Lambert is trying to be too big. He’s using controversy as a device to get fame and nothing about his AMA performance seemed genuine. I don’t think very many people respect him. He’s trying to make a big splash by being true to himself, but that’s the wrong formula completely.

The difference between making a big impact by living your true life, making your life small out of fear, and trying to make yourself bigger than you are, is in the core of you, in the daily choice to do what’s right.

I gotta make dinner now. BYE.

Dreams

We are such stuff
as dreams are made on, and our little life
is rounded with a sleep.

-The Tempest, Act 4, Scene 1

I am not some crazy mystic, but I believe dreams tell us things. We don’t listen to our subconscious enough. We don’t talk enough. We repress, hold things in, bottle it up, stuff it in our mouths, grind it in our sleep.

Why do we take emotions so seriously? Why is depression so hush-hush? Why can’t we call out our friends when they make bad decisions?

Why am I so afraid all the time? If I could pretend this life is a dream, and if I could lucid-dream this pretend-life, I’d do more than fly over my elementary school. I’d do stupid stuff. Like throw money on people. Put benches at every bus stop. Apologize to the people I’ve bullied. Meet people on the street. People out there are doing this, and I can only dream of it.

Jill Bolte Taylor wrote a book after recovering from a stroke which affected the left half of her brain. She couldn’t think analytical thoughts for five weeks. Without her left brain, all that she could experience was the feeling of her body, physically. She had a constant awareness of her self without any computing, analyzing, or thinking. She called it the most blissful silence she’d ever experience.

Those who meditate strive for this silence. It’s a detachment from one’s “life,” that big complicated thing we dream about every night. Do you ever wish you didn’t have to dream? I always dream I can’t see or can’t find my car. I’m always worried in those thought tangents.

Back when I was a fundamentalist, I dreamed I was fighting off demons. I also dreamed I was by a blossomed-tree that was losing all its pedals. I dreamed songs almost every night.

I wish I could turn my left brain off. For five seconds. And realize what my life really is.

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