Even in absurdity, sacrament.    Even in hardship, holiness.    Even in doubt, faith.     Even in chaos, realization.   Even in paradox, blessedness.   

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February 2003
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02/08/2003 Entry: ""Spellbound""

Despite all my worrying, the Hunger Banquet was a success and went off without a hitch. There were some raids by the third world, minor upheavals in the second, and first worlders so disgusted by the numbers of hungry in the world that they couldn't eat their gourmet meals. Somehow, I managed to be funny and entertaining... it could have been the wine. The youth did a great job, dancing, hawking wares, one of which I bought.

The drum. The big heartbeat drum. The big calling-across-the-mountains drum. This drum was made in Haiti and came back with the last trip. I took it home and dried the head, and gave it a few taps to see if she was ready. A few taps turned into some timeless expanse of tapping, banging, beating, breathing with the drum, a full blown trance with the drum, a dance with the drum. Now, I don't keep beats, I lose them. Musically speaking, I'm only predisposed to listen, for everyone else's sake. But it was like the drum was teaching me, being patient with me, letting me find how to speak in that language. Spellbound, it wasn't long before I was asleep.


The dream I most remember found me in Haiti, in a crowded marketplace. The language was very clear. The mood was cautionary.. . that I had permission to be there but could not upset the balance. I had no money, was hungry and a little lost. But I was happy, absorbing Haiti into my skin, my eyes, it all felt so real. Then, I was in Tierra del Fuego, sitting at the stony, icy edge of South America, watching dolphins and penguins frolic. It wasn't that cold, but there was a constant wind, and I remember trying to collect my thoughts as one would collect rocks. One thought I had apparently found turned into my boss... we were going to drink wine and [yuck]aspic, watch a movie backwards and talk politics.

I usually don't have a clue what my dreams are about, and I try not to pick them apart. It's part of the visionary circus that rolls through the soul all day, all night long. Once asleep, then we can pay attention. From them, to take a few images and hold on to them, or mold them into something real, tangible, maybe that's not the purpose, but a purpose. Recipes for art, for speaking in a deeper language.

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jay/Male/26-30. Lives in United States/North Carolina/Woodfin/New Bridge, speaks English and French. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection. And likes creativity/mysticism.
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