empty dragons

I saw that blonde woman on TV.

Some behind the scenes/making of for Game of Thrones.

She’s a ruler.  Or a princess.  One of the key players in the drama.  She had throngs of people and digitally animated “people” around her.  Guards and knights and such in-between her and the real and false masses.  Much ado.

There be dragons.  Teenage dragons.  Pets.  Friends.  Her pets.  Her friends.  Perched and flapping next to her.  Then wild in the air.  Roasting people.  Tossing them as bait.  Then at tense rest beside her.  And there was something to the manor with which she behaved around such awkward and glorious beasts.

I can’t stop thinking about her now since I saw her with her dragons.

I want to watch the show now.  Not because of any drama or threads.  I just want to see more of her.  I want to get closer to this dragon-close lady.  Her calm response.

In truth, she was only responding to air and a green stick.  That’s what the tv about tv showed us.  A green stick with a green ball at its end.  And with some work: poof!  dragons!  Responding to emptiness but to dragons.

And there is a powerful part of me that longs to be next to her.  As an emptiness that seems so much like dragons looking to find her gentle acceptance.

surprise dream

I had a terrible dream the other night about a murderer and all of his gruesome feats.  The visions chronicled destruction after destruction of the most vulgar sort.  It was slow.  It was disturbing.

While we grew to hone in on the killer and the events heightened to a third act excitement I surprised myself by discovering that I had the killer wrong the whole time.  It was his sister instead and I was blown away.

I mentioned this was my dream, right?

For all the cliche this will gain me, the dream was like a movie.  Camera Man Dreams In Movies (full story page 3).  Blah blah.  But how do you surprise yourself in your own dream?  I mean, it was a real Crying Game kind of “woah!” (which, yes, I was surprised by as well.)

I staggered out of bed, thrown by myself straight off.

Running

What I want to know is, fine, stress dream, ok, I get it: I need to be in a predicament.  I need something to be presiding over me.  I need difficulty.  It’s a simple soup.  A clear stack of ingredients.  That I get.

But the slow motion running thing.  I mean, come on.  How many decades deep am I in this dream?  With all the times I can sing “I am Beautiful” to myself, can’t I graduate up a level or two?  What about if I’m actually a pretty good runner?  What if I gain some good ground and I get a minute of surprised pride but then everyone around me starts running weirdly faster than you would ever expect?  Wouldn’t that be almost as stressful?  Even more so maybe?

It could be like: “oh, yeah, you run, Graham!”

And then the rest could be a huge serving of

“Think again, sucker, here’s a no compete for you”

And while I’m in the middle of this, why was I being chased by Gwyneth Paltrow and why was she in a pink ballet outfit?

gardens, suns, nonsense

I am nearly thorough this incredibly thick brush.

When you build a garden, you maybe throw down some seeds.  Here.  There.  A little later you probably turn on a hose.  There might be a plant or two that you really spend time on.  A growth you label.  Some ground that lies in your mind and backyard as iconic, a pick, a particular section of life that you draw intentions around.

It doesn’t surprise you when this part grows.  You fawn it with your fingers and with your time.  And around this will grow the casual other of weeds and good greens.  Some more water, some more sun, some more seeds.  Bit by bit is how the spaces get filled.

Of course you’re too busy with your focus to see before you what fills your every step.

After a time, the time comes to move to a new home.  Or put in a pool. It’s ok.  You built this.  You can take it down.  But the roots.  The little bits that you took years to scatter about have thickened beyond your scope.  They’ve grown strong in their place in you.

Pulling the old seedlings one at a time kills you each of the times.  The work involved seems to never cease.  Weeks, months to brown a corner of the green.  One small corner.  All your free time to find the soil you need for your barbeque.  For your kids to play.  For a place to sit.  Or even for the pool you’ll spend the next 20 years maintaining for the sake of the fall leaves and the fences what keep the kids away.

It’s just incredible how much work it is undoing the work you’ve done.

And what blisters even more is the mantra you used to hum while planting: that you never wanted to make a garden, you just threw the seeds down because you had the dirt and it made sense to use it.

A will-less walkabout in quicksand.

Like pulling the push door, thinking it might not change for you or it might but here’s as good a spot as any.

It’s the same logic I had the other day while nestled between buildings.  Waiting for a friend in the early hours of the day I was surprised by the sun.  It seemed to be coming from the wrong place.  Wedged inbetween concrete towers, I played detective, using my reasoning and logic to confirm this twisted phenomenon.  At some point or another I indeed confirmed the sun was wrong.  Rising in the west.  Setting in the east that day.

And instead of tearing my eyeballs out and running for the hills, instead of hugging the construction men next to me and telling them they will be home soon I shrugged my shoulders and ate some more cranberry scone.

Superhero training school: Fail.

Of course I was facing south instead of north.  Stupid.  But my own degrees of perspective took no part of the revolutionary path before me.  That’s another post though.

Finding an impossible pass and paying the fee, getting on board anyway.  Such a crazy logic.

Hey Graham!  The past 6 years of your business make no sense.  Table for one?

 

free time, bike hazards

There is free time.  There is time that is free.  And I pay for it with every minute I’m not working.  Nice benefits though.

 

Sure, part of that time I waste watching trashy sci-fi thrillers.  But I’ve gone to yoga.  I’ve lifted weights that were perfectly content where they were and remain now that I’ve gone.  I’ve run in one place. I’ve seen people and I’ve stayed seeing them long enough to talk to them too.  And the best thing is that I’ve had all this time to do errands and chores.  Sometimes I go grocery shopping three times in one day!  What could be better than that?

 

It was precarious biking down the street with that grocery bag hanging from one side of my handlebars and I knew it.  I was chancing it.  Don’t tell yourself but it’s also that my helmet was unbuckled.  I don’t normally live so crazy dangerous but I did today and when I did this guy played high school driving test on me and walked between two cars (sneaky pooper) to cross the street without looking both ways.  Or even one way.  I mean, he looked ahead so that’s one way, fine, but he didn’t look two ways: forward like his toes and otherwise towards oncoming traffic.  So I sorta go back to the first thing I said: he didn’t look two ways and both of them weren’t a good idea to not do.

 

By the grace of God I’m an amazing biker even when I ride the razor blade’s edge of peril with a grocery bag teasing my front wheel comma death.  So I was able to slow, say “Hello!” and avoid crashing into him to which his thankful and not-dead-yet response was “take it easy.”

 

Ok, here’s where it gets good.  You know what I said?  Wait for it, <space for waiting> I said: “No, you take it easy.”  And then, as if that’s not good enough, as I rode away, we went back and forth with this same line a few more times.

 

Later (fifteen seconds?) I was coming down off my testosterone avalanche.  As I came down, my indignant airs diffused and transformed into something other.  I wanted to be his mom, to hold him and snuggle with him and remind him that I won’t always be there with him.  To tell him that I love him and I need him to be safe so please look more than one way when crossing the street.  For me, so that he and we can be.  And I faced all of these wants by going home and watching bad sci fi.