like a black steer’s tookus on a moonless prairie night

The mind asks a question and the mind answers the question. This is common practise. It can be believed to be reality. That an answer should come….it will come from the mind. In a sentence.

No. There is a profound silence. Ask a question and listen.
“Should I be with him? ” —–PURE POTENTIAL
“Am I to do this, or that?” —– PURE POTENTIAL
“Why did I do this/that say this/that?” —-PURE POTENTIAL

The only answer is in the silence. I know I’m really listening if  all I hear back is silence.
The answer will come, I suspect. But not in words. Not in a sentence or a lecture from the Narrator in the head. What does the Head know? The Head knows headstuff. Lotta good that does when the Head asks a question and the Head answers it. Why did the Head even ASK it in the first place if it knew?!

 The answer comes in a synchronicity (we all know about syncronicity nowadays, don’t we.) The answer comes sometimes an action that seemingly burst out of nowhere. I suddenly find myself moving in one direction or the other, without thought.  Often it is delivered right to my door. Put right in my lap. Or facebook newsfeed.

Often there is no answer at all. Because it really doesn’t matter. The All doesn’t care. All choices are equal. My particular cluster of whatever will generally lean me towards, or line up events to show, an answer that’s of satisfactory nature.

Believe it or not, there is a dimension that is silent but fully alive. More alive than thinking. More alive than opinions or telling my story. An alive silence that is pure potential. Pre-thought. What I am is pre-thought. A living silence all around and also within. Whole and undivided and fully unconcerned with the natter and chatter of us chickens.

Wake up, deal. Quiet morning coffee feeding the crows and watching the locals. A “menial” job perhaps but one I’ll likely be quite content with for some time. Movies are my favourite hobby. I fraternize with the Who’s. Come home and be demanded of. Housework, splitting wood, cooking, making lunches, homework, reading to, snuggling with, discussing teenage problems with. And loving that role. I love Wendy. She’s awesome. I totally dig her, I really do. I’m having a blast being Wendy. Wendy wants things. Wendy has questions. It’s all good

But sometimes I “tap out” of awareness of the silence. That’s a funny thing about this dream. I forget, sometimes, that i’m dreaming. The noise, oh my god. The Narrator pipes up and goes on full-tilt monologue! I dont even notice it, i just feel irritable and the body has a reaction and i can go, i’m not kidding you, i can go FOR. DAYS.

DAYS! DAYS! forgetting the silence for DAYS! that’s when the dream becomes a fuckin’ nightmare, I tell you.

And then, like tonight, invisible cotton appears in my eardrums and it’s silent again, and i remember: OH YEAHH!!! HOLY SHIT!!! i was sleepwalking again. weird. how can i forget this?! how can i actually STILL forget this?!


signing off for now. come in and rent a movie. betcha i can find one you’ll like.



One thought on “like a black steer’s tookus on a moonless prairie night

  1. the head does indeed know head stuff! I take comfort in knowing it’s out there, the silence, taking it easy for all us sinners.
    Nice post duder

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