How I am is how I want to be
I repeat this to myself
But don't believe it
I say to myself
How I want to be is how I am
I play-believe, make-believe, don't-believe
Eyes close, a breath, inwards
Holding, letting go, trust
How things appear isn't quite how they are.
I think of magic, disappearance
I was rummaging yesterday, folders of photographs and writings in magazine boxes, 1980s, 1970s, no reason. A sense of organising into boxes, into an order dissipated over a cup of tea, reminding myself I just like arranging and re-arranging things, like flowers, like a garden, a landscape, my thoughts. I put things back where they came from, more or less. Something shifted, and I began making a birthday present for my sister, instead of buying her chocolates, a little frame I came across while moving things around, a mount, a backing board, a photograph. I made some more mounts with photographs, she can have a choice about which photograph she puts in the frame today, this month, this year. I'll see my sister today for lunch.
A feeling of a dream from last night, images, things happening, slightly disturbing, a place I've moved to, a flat, views across an unknown, outside, people, a parade, dressed up, ancient ritual, local tradition, looking through a corner window, one side onto a street, the other across a landscape. I'm outside, I come back, people eating cake, drinking tea, people from the parade, people I don't know.
Knowing comes to mind. Un-dreaming.
Human knowing. And, more so, this Being knowing. This everything that isn't just stuck in a concept of mind, of mine. This exploring, this journey, through thoughts, feelings, sounds, images, movement. An embodied mind. How I feel about things rarely corresponds with how I think about things.
Time passes 08:00, coffee cup empty, I leave with a reality entangled in appearance and being, in a nice way.