Dreaming of Power

I dreamed there were powerful men who slept a drug-induced sleep in my parents’ bedroom. I moved between our waking world and their dream world to see what they were up to. In their dreams, they had unlimited power and exercised it at every opportunity. I was carefully deferential in that world, so as not to arouse suspicion. Back in our waking world, we tiptoed around them, knowing they’d be angry if they woke. Anyone would be angry, to lose the illusion of so much power. 

I think perhaps Congress has been having my dream too.

Honey Dog, Raven, Angel, Rebel

…there
is Beau: bounding and
practically boundless,
one brass concatenation
of tongue and tail,
unmediated energy,
too big, wild,
perfect…

Mark Doty from “Atlantis“

I’m sitting on the edge of Crystal Lake, watching the new fall colors reflected in the water, waiting calmly for a hurricane to come through, the first Maine has seen in 17 years.

Angel, who is part coyote and has one brown eye, one blue, and one half-missing ear, brought me gently out of sleep by jumping over me onto the bed. Rebel, a small hound, curled in her dog bed by my armchair while I read. Raven, a husky who chose her own name, perking up as the word “Raven” was read from a book, watches quietly out the window for the storm to approach. And last week, Honey Dog, blind and deaf and moving stiffly with age, moved contentedly in her space, exploring what she still could, following scent trails across the ground until the finite length of her leash stopped her, at which point, she would simply move in a different direction.

In a short time, I’ll go back into the world of work and schedules, planning for the future. But today, I’m grateful just to sit with the dogs, waiting with acceptance for whatever it is that’s about to move through. And Angel, who climbs up to put her head in my lap, is clearly not yet ready for me to go.

Time & Space

Over a month ago, I wrote this post at the end of a period of my life that spanned about four and a half years. I finally finished school, graduated, and went back to having just one job. Where I expected things to slow down, however, the sense of franticness continues. While some hurdles have been jumped and old questions answered, the ever-present “what now” feels as pressing as ever, and there is the perpetual feeling of being behind.

The most likely explanation is that it’s my mind that has not slowed down. Circumstances are what they are, but franticness or peace are within, and peace seems to elude me at the moment. I’m hoping to find it, over the next few days, in the Green Mountains, or driving through New England, or visiting with the Lady of the Lake. So wish me safe travels; I’ll be back next month with a full report, and hopefully, a mind more at ease.

The Large Hadron Collider

Yesterday morning, a major historic event took place, though the nature of it was technical enough to be relatively inaccessible to most, so the story wasn’t exactly front page news.

Scientists fired up the Large Hadron Collider for the first time, sending beams of protons around its tunnel. Hopes for the coming experiment (involving circulating beams that will collide) are high; it has the potential to unlock the secrets of dark matter, the big bang, and possibly even the Higgs, or “God particle,” which is said to explain why particles have mass.

Early fears arose when some suggested the experiment might create black holes into which the planet would actually disappear. In NPR’s coverage, scientists explain why this is not a real concern, but the apocalyptic overtones and arguments remain part of the ongoing discussion. There are even jokes about it. To check on the status of this experiment and find out if the worst has happened, you can visit: http://hasthelargehadroncolliderdestroyedtheworldyet.com/.

Michael Meade suggests that our usual way of conceptualizing time as a linear construct is only one possibility, that perhaps time is actually circular, such that end and beginning are the same thing. Perhaps we feel this instinctually. Perhaps we know, waiting for the collider to do its thing, that the beginning has something of the end in it, and drawing closer to one means we must at least brush by the other.

But the significant thing is this: The experiment is proceeding, and no credible effort is being made to prevent it from happening. As a collective human consciousness, we seem driven past all obstacles to seek that beginning point,  to understand where we come from.