Being

Quit some years ago I met a man because I wanted to learn from him. Several years before I met him I slid into being a lucid dreamer. In those days I went from Beauty to horror to mundane through out the night. I reached out into community and discovered a dream group. It was a style that helped some. I went to yoga, learned about nutrition, mediatated, became a Nia instructor, expanded my religious understandings, drummed, danced, went to sweat lodges, studied science, read poetry, drank tequila, and play wrote. I say play wrote because I never could get past the overshadowing of my own thought that I was not capable of becoming a writer. All I did before I met this teacher helped some.

Now because I was befriended. Because the intentional community he organized and facilitated did not crumble under my chaos, but held as I did the work. Because his words were so humanly flawed, not perfect, and so brilliant and perfect. Because I know I don't know all the
Be- Causes, language and writing are as equally awake in me as my dreaming. I have a few other people in my life whose Being holds safe brillant lit spaces for my growth. On my walk this morning in a fit of gratitude and humbleness, I flicked away the dull thought, "How can I ever pay this teacher back"?

Now I take my Being into play with all the luscious sensations, chores and synchronicities of the day. I have the greatest initiation to bring into play for when I drift awake into the night. I can say it's prayer at the altar of dreaming. I feel anticipation like a child before she is able to unwrap her christmas presents. Oh how I love to play!