Sometimes I just sit in my little chair at my little desk with my internet all fired up while I think about things that have nothing (or very little) to do with reality whatsoever. I mean, there's no place I would rather be than inside my own head. I could spend days on end there if I could just find a way to earn money while I hang out and swim in the glorious pools of my imagination. I could visit the land of Heather, my beloved Scotland. I could and would be an ambassador of sorts for those who couldn't dig deeply into the folds of their own brains. Through me, they could travel, instantly, spontaneously, excitedly, oh so very sensually vividly. The crimson laced clouds floating aimlessly as they melt into deeper azure skies; glancing back to see if someone is following me, I hope he is there. I hope he remembered to bring his kilt. (He doesn't actually have to wear it really, not if he's willing to give a grin or two while he removes it.) I won't tell anyone.
My mind allows me to escape at a moment's notice. Faster really. I can release reality like it's nothing more than smoke on the tip of a fat brown cigar, burning ash and forever gone. Even the lingering vapors of validity would convey the impression that I was someplace where fairies danced and fiesty weasels whispered in dreamlike woodlands. Who wouldn't want to be with me there? I want to be with me there right now; the only thing holding me back is the fact that I'm about to fall asleep and bid my mind hello for a few restful hours; hours I cherish on a daily basis. I only wish I could be more catlike and sleep more often. Dreams become my playground, my body wrapped in veiled thin ribbons, colors, textures, laces, light. I don't remember being here before, but if this is where I'm going to be I'll remember it so I can in fact return again; another night.
There are times when I wonder who that man may be, if there will be one, who can release his own mind long enough from fear and fret to wiggle and twist a dance with me through airy breezes cascading from sapphire lifts just before dusk calls the two of us to her breast. Makes me wonder what this poor man ever did to God to serve such penance as to remain with me, and what wonderful peace I may have been mercifully shown for the same gift from Almighty God...my pleasure to be his woman if he will be my man. There is but one. There can not be more. The poor soul must truly be repentant for something in his past to be charged with trying to wrangle my spirit while we tickle each other through the mossy clover on the moors of my mind. Whatever it is that he has committed against our Holy Father, I am grateful. But a dream - - is a dream.
Tonight is another night, the end of a summer month, the beginning of another time. Tonight is a genesis of sorts for mind's ardor, for my excitement of what is to be, what is to come, what is to be revealed. Tonight I rest and rest well, I live to draw breath enough to sustain another fantasy full and ripe with the fruit from the valley. I am again able to stare into the darkest of skies to see the tiny pinpricks of light declaring that there is a Heaven I will be a resident there one day; just not today. Tonight I rest and I know that the very stars I gaze upon are being seen far far away by perhaps the man who is wondering if he would ever be given another chance to love.
When I am awake I know that there is no one strong enough to be my captain; not at this time. I am a force to be reckoned with; myself refusing to be tamed. When I am ready, when God is willing, there will be a partner to my spinning, there will be one to remove my ribbons and hold me against his form. There will be a man dear enough, strong enough, faithful enough to God to be my everything but not tonight; tonight I dream. Tonight I wonder. I imagine. I smile.
Photo Credit: Ean Grimm
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