Yea, I know I tend to dream rather than exist only in harsh reality. I don’t know if this is good or bad, but I do like to fantasize a lot. I dream a lot these days. And in fact, being up at the farm sort of brings this out in me more. Maybe it is the fresh air or the quiet, but I have been dreaming furiously the last two days since I had been there. Some of it was kind of neat such as the 70’s songs that popped into my head. What was that one?
"If you could read my mind love,
What a tail my thoughts would tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
The kind that the drugstore sells…"
Maybe it was the melody, you know and I was associating it through some other song. I really don’t know why BJ Thomas, I think it was BJ Tomas, got into my head after30 years or so but he did. Maybe it was this new Star Wars movie coming out. I have been dreaming of slashing a couple of folks from the Polish judicial system in two with a light saber lately, so that could have been it.
But mostly what I dream of is a great end to this episode of my life. I dream of receiving a letter from somewhere, or an E-mail from Poland, the states, the American embassy- somewhere telling me that Zaremba has been removed from the streets and full restitution is to be paid. Perhaps Weisniakowski has been fired or the Judge. Or maybe a publisher is writing to tell me that the story has broken out and there is interest in the story of a man trying to stick by his principles, a guy who wouldn’t back down in the face of Police corruption. Or maybe it would be that I was seen as a fellow who had simply taken it on the chin and never quit trying to do what he had set out to do. Something. These dreams are always about the people that have been touching me offering vindication and having doors open up again.
But like I say, these are dreams. At the moment I have lots of bureaucratic stuff to deal with and an incredible uphill climb to look forward to. But I have some things I would like to do still. I like to think I will have a chance to build something here, something that will all0ow enough money for us to live, something that will help and contribute in some way. This is all I ever wanted anyway, so you know it would be nice. I at least like to dream that these sorts of things are possible while I am pulling weeds and planting seeds and trying to make soft and sweet beds for ours to grow in. I have got lots of things growing around me these days and I am going to try to feed and defend all of them.
Had an interesting moment this morning. I was sitting with Anya for a few moments while Tanya finished up in the kitchen and was playing the guitar. She likes the music and watching my hands and asks for lot so encores and such. Great audiences, four month olds. Anyway, after some Twinkle Twinkle and a crappy Scott Joplin rip-off,. I turned the guitar around and let Anya finger the strings. She has become really ‘handy’ lately and requires something to hold or manipulate to keep her mind occupied.
She went right for the strings though, plucking a few of them and hearing that they made toned. I think all parents sit and wait for something that appears to be genius or something like that from their kids. I liked this moment for that reason and waited to see if her little as yet undeveloped nervous system could make the synaptic leap between touching stretched guitar strings and the noise that the activity made. And I did. Well, I don’t know really if I did or not, but it certainly looked like it. Or, if it wasn’t genius, maybe it was just grace. Feminine grace to be specific. I have seen females in my life make this motion before. Soft as a breeze over a field of wheat. But she just her hand lightly over all six strings. It was a strum, but more than this, it was as if the motion was planned, like her just-beginning little consciousness had some moment of full awaked-ness, perhaps a hold-over from a stand or two of DNA. Or maybe it was just luck, But she just did this thing, this feather soft imitation of feminine exploration and as she did it she smiled at her results. Pure love.
My heart is still aching at this as I write these words. But I think I am aching for myself as much as anything. I remember a time in my life, perhaps it was simply when I was younger that I felt I could exist in such grace. As if that gentleness was still a possibility to me, or maybe better stated, that I had the ability to dance with something so soft, so delicate. I think I tried to write about this in a couple of plays I wrote a long time ago. At least I wrote about the existence of things that were beautiful and should at least be preserved or protected or at least respected enough to let be. At least I though I was writing about this.
“… The hero would be me.
But I won’t read that book again
Because the ending’s just too hard to take.”
So that’s about all. I have got a new play in the works at the moment. I am writing this long hand like I used to because of yet more computer problems. And, if things would ever calm down I would love to get started again on the new book. Or maybe I would just love to get started again.
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