Color in Dreams

I dreamt the other night that all my ceremonial whites were stained by color bleeding from the washer, but it wasn’t my ceremonial whites, it was my regular clothes that were stained different colors and patterns, and I had to bleach all my clothes to get them white again. That could mean anything from feeling like I’ve lost that “ceremonial white” attitude, to dealing with the institutional mourning of my medicine family.

In that same sequence of dreams, there was also one where I took all the color stickers off a Rubik’s cube and polished it so that it would be more cool and unique for the girls, only to realize that I could no longer solve the cube with no colors to guide me. The base cube was, of course, black… and useless without color, which I had previously removed from my whites.

I’m getting mixed messages here, unconscious.

The River

This is my advice to foreigners:   

 call it simply—the river;

 never say old muddy

 or even Missouri,

 and except when it is necessary   

 ignore the fact that it moves.   

 

It is the river, a singular,

 stationary figure of division.

Do not allow the pre-Socratic   

to enter your mind except

when thinking of clear water trout   

streams in north central Wyoming.   

The river is a variety of land,   

a kind of dark sea or great bay,   

sea of greater ocean.

At times I find it good discipline   

to think of it as a tree

rooted in the delta,

a snake on its topmost western branch.   

These hills are not containers;   

they give no vantage but that   

looking out is an act of transit.   

We are not confused,

we do not lose our place.

~ Michael Anania

Nine of Art; Six of Heart

erodes the line between being and place becomes the place of being time and so the house turns in the snow is why a ghost always has the architecture of a storm The architect tore down room after room until the sound stopped. A ghost is one among the ages at the edge of a cliff empty sails on the bay even when a ship or the house moves off in fog asks you out loud to let the stranger in ~ Cole Swensen

Before the Coffee Gets Cold

"Don't leave anything for later.

Later, the coffee gets cold.

Later, you lose interest.

Later, the day turns into night.

Later, people grow up.

Later, people grow old.

Later, life goes by.

Later, you regret not doing something...

When you had the chance.

Life is a fleeting dance, a delicate balance of moments that unfold before us, never to return in quite the same way again.

Regret is a bitter pill to swallow, a weight that bears down upon the soul with the burden of missed chances and unspoken words.

So, let us not leave anything for later. Let us seize the moments as they come, with hearts open and arms outstretched to embrace the possibilities that lie before us. 

For in the end, it is not the things we did that we regret, but the things we left undone, the words left unspoken, the dreams left unfulfilled."

         ~ Toshikazu Kawaguchi