Dreams for the Ages

I used to dream that I was a spy. It wasn't uncommon for me to wake up in the middle of the night, soaked with sweat, fresh out of a scene from a Bourne movie (or some custom version of a similar ilk in which I was the star). In hindsight, I can pinpoint quite a few reasons why my dreams ran this course for several years. Sadly though, it seems that my days as a sleep drunken dreamer spy have gone. My oft dozing subliminal self hasn't been able to channel the always running adventurer in quite awhile.

My dreams of late are fairly focused, pinpointed on fears and a recurring scene that involves a voodoo statue and a lot of yelling on my part. They also involve the occasional bar room, with a long table and me stuck up against the wall, unable to move. If you really want to know I'll tell you, but it's kinda weird and more than a little disconcerting, so let's leave it between you and me ok?

Remember that race I was going to run last Saturday? It was awesome. Seriously a ton of fun, running through the woods, up and down steep ravines, across a waist deep river (not once, but three times) and through rocky creek beds. I'm gonna go ahead and give back the poison ivy that currently abides on both legs and my right arm. I'm also going to give back the 3 hornet stings that laid me up for 3 days. (Yes, I'm allergic, and yes I kept running and finished the last 3 miles after I got stung. . . . don't worry, my mom already yelled at me for it.) I came in 11th overall and should have been 8th, but got lost on the trail at one point and ran about 1/2 mile out of my way to get back with the pack. Finishers 8,9 and 10 were in my sights at the end and if I hadn't gotten lost I would've been in front of them no problem. I know that the title of this post was about dreams, but this kinda was one, so lay off.

Surreal moments abound. My nerve endings are finding life after a long period of numbness and it feels good to feel again. Though I'm not medicated, I find myself living again for the first time in awhile in a Garden State sort of way. The sterile, unfeeling, and very safe place where I put my heart now seems bland, un-invigorating and cold. I want some color. I'm wearing green today, but in that bar room dream, I'm wearing gray.

Down the Road I Go . . .

So it's been about 9 1/2 months since anything of substance landed here, and at the time I guess no one had a clue.

I suppose it's safe to say that finally, at this point, and after everything else, I can show my face here again. Vulnerability is a bit hard to come by these days, but with the continued help of some old friends (and a few new ones) I'm making my way. Those who know me well know where I am and where I am not ... and now the rest of you are wondering. I'm still locked up tight, but the walls of this vault are starting to look more like a cardboard box, and I know that it's only a matter of time before I'm free to be me again . . . free to be the B that I haven't been for many years. Resurgence is in the air and I believe that the best is yet to come.

I have run through 4 pairs of shoes
I have climbed a mountain
I have sworn . . . . at basically everyone (yes, probably even you at some point)
I have cried
I have screamed
I have painted
I have played
I have seen the very best and worst of myself
I have learned to stand up for myself

This is an annotated list.

And now I am ready for what is next. Tomorrow morning I'm running this guy. I'm a little excited about exposing the remaining demons, and then running their asses into the ground (or mud as the case may be). It's supposed to rain, and I think that will make it even better.

F*$% you Jobu, I'll do it myself.

Is there room in me for grace? And for patience? I don't discount the value, but I'm feeling a little selfish right now, and I guess I'm tired of being graceful, and patient. I seem to be a little short on tolerance, but then, I've always been willing to stand back and watch people implode with a kind smile on my face. Am I gracious because I don't speak up? Or am I a coward who can't dictate enough substance to alter what is going on around me? Or do I just find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time?

There is room in me for grace, and for patience. Those spaces are not dictated by circumstance, but by people. As my community grows, and the circle of people who care for me increases, so does my capacity for love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness and self-control. As much as I hate to admit it, the strength of the Spirit is drawn from the presence of community, and not by some advanced level of perception, logic, or knowledge. I find myself low amongst them, with much to learn.

Am I back? Who knows? But at least I'm breathing, and today at least, I'm standing up straight and showing my face.