Sleep Into Butterflies

2024.07.19

Good morning, that wonderful way.

Writing. Righting. Wrighting. That's the sailor's way.

Looking out over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before....

Old songs, new songs and what comes after.

There's satisfaction.

There's getting things done.

There's defining those things.

There's typing with your eyes closed.

I'm of the lesser variety as of late.

By that I mean an introduction sentence to say my days of stream of conscious blather to get to the matter at hand lessened.

My freewrites are now 'just writes.'

Mostly.

Some kinks are to be gotten out.

So, onto the next.

I once wrote that grammar is a canvas and not a prison.

I wrote it again because it's a good point.

A bit discombobulated coming back around, landing, returning from the dreams last night.

Do you remember yours? When you wake, do you remember your dreams?

What does that even mean?

How does that pertain to today?

Dreams are images unchecked.

Or is it consciousness making sense of the experience of life with eyes shut, without the senses involved?

If we take the senses out, what's left?

It's gotta be like death, sleeping I mean.

We get our bodies as detached as they can be here and find ourselves, at last, just ourselves.

Whatever we are when we're not running around touching things, with our eyes, our ears, our nose and hands.

Where, and what, is that land we find ourselves in when we fall asleep?

And why call it fall?

Do we drop down, or just out?

Can we, at last, get out of the sporting event called the human race and go back to our home called the land of dreams?

Are we touching base in Heaven's space?

Is it a quick assessment of how our lives are going?

Do we get marching orders for the next day?

What are dreams for?

Or better yet why do we wake back up?

I believe whatever happens in dreams, wherever we find ourselves, is our actual place.

And Life, what we call Life, is a place to feed and nourish and grow whatever our soul is.

Life is a butterfly's cocoon gone too soon, we feel.

Making experiences to feel, and then making language to express those feelings; that's Life.

We wake up to go back to being caterpillars, then sleep into butterflies and return to the process again and again until our souls are mature enough to stay in flight in the world called dreams.