“When did you stop looking up?” “The art of fence design,” and other tales

I had a thought: my journey — oddly timed — occurred here alone.  My post-journey collage contains the memorable image-mottoes, “When did you stop looking up?”  “The art of fence design,” “Color me fun!” (in big splashy letters), “Perfections of passion,” and “Let your imagination run wild!”

I’ve been especially influenced by that strange query, “When did you stop looking up?”

I’ve begun noticing at work the extent to which I refuse to make eye contact with anyone.  This is even more true at home or when ever I’m attracted to a guy.

In part, my long running depressive state is related to this fact.   I no longer look up because I feel low and scared.  Because I have been burned, I have been traumatized and fear engagement and commitment.

Work is a mask that I wear, and in its current incarnation, that mask is terse under stress, it barely restrains its anger, it is driven to produce.

This is related to a deeper rendering of the question — “when did you stop looking up?” I’ve been making lateral movements at work and in my dreams for too long now.  I’ve ceased to challenge myself, and in some ways have become too static.  I have tried in fact to enmesh myself in structure and hierarchy and lost myself in the process of  becoming rich and famous.

The trade off is that I’ve stopped allowing my imagination out to play.  I’ve become obsessed with fitting a mold and wearing a mask, to the point where half of the time I lose sight of my own face.

I’ve stopped dreaming, both literally and figuratively.  My living of life as a sacred pursuit has been largely replaced by go-to-work, go home, check my email, eat dinner, go-to-bed.

I constantly crave new books, magazines, and the like but seldom stay with them long enough to learn anything.  I also find difficulty in moving from acquaintance to true friendship.

It is easy to be overwhelmed by the constant stream of information.  Perhaps I could try a  media fast again, as well as make an effort to inject spontaneity and new experiences back into my life.

While sorting and filing tonight, I came across a thick file folder containing some of my passionate early efforts at capturing the mood of some of my favorite books.  Opening the file at random, I had an “Aha!” moment.

These were my dreams!  I had forgotten, but these are my dreams!

I became quite excited, though now I realize that one of the most important reasons for me to find this now is not so that I could reread them excitedly but so that I could remember that once upon a time, I did dream.  Once upon a time, my dreams transformed my waking reality and took over my life.  I found this so that I would remember to dream.

23 June 2000 Friday ~1:30 am

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