I woke from a dream that we befriended people we admire they lived next door to us in a new house we moved into. They liked us, and the liklihood of us ever having that kind of proximity to them is next to zero. Still, it was a good dream so I’ll take it. It reminds me of waking out of a peaceful place and finding myself in a hospital bed in pain and fog, realizing that the peace was induced by anesthesia, and was conditional, but not real. Perhaps this is why people drink, or do drugs. Or maybe why they escape into all kinds of behaviors and distractions to temper reality.
I think about the thousands of hours it took me to buy the freezedtyers that are sitting unused six years later through no fault of my own. The pens that rarely get used are also on my mind. How many things get pushed aside, not by me, but through circumstances, that could be feeding me and my soul? I think deeper about those who who are not being fed by me. I would feed them. They are mine to feed, metaphorically. I wonder what the real core problem is. Am I missing it? How hard should I push for these things? Hard enough to make up for those who refuse to share my vision? Is it okay to be pushy? I see the obstacles as walls.
What do we do with walls? Break them down or endure them? Are they protection or prisons?
I did not build them.
What will it take to live up to my heart’s decree, “today I change”. I now see that external change will only come by internal change. A personal shift. Push, push, push.
