harold_maude's journal

I heard this story about a man who had a dream one night. He dremp he was a butterfly. When he woke up he thought to himself was I dreaming of the butterfly or was the butterfly dreaming of me?

The dream was so real that it made him ask that question. Maybe he was a butterfly dreaming of a man. Maybe when we dream we are dreaming of ourselves in another dimension. What if...

It's an intersting thought. The possiblity that this is just one reality we living in, if it is what happens, than for many of us who have bits of dreams that don't make sense, this would answer many questions, to a certian degree.

And what if thoes dreams that we have that are so real we're sure we're awake, maybe were just watching our reflection in some mirror in some other place.
What if...

There have been alot of posts lately about our sense of perception that it has the potential to take us out of the box and well on our way to understanding questions that are deep inside and we just don't know how to voice them.

Except every once in a while the whole collected thought makes it to where we are awake, and then we can talk about it, and write about it.

There is so much we don't know, and so much we have forgotten, as a species. I think we are in a time of awakening, and it's been going on for a while.
I think moments of brilliance that come to ordinary men and women are moments when things make it to the place where we can grasp them have been going on for a long time as well.

I think the rare times when someone has managed to stay open enough to understand things, we end up with a Lenardo Davinci
or a Steven Hawlking, but it's all been on certian levels and about just certian things.

I think what's happening, more and more, the awaking is becomming broader, we're understanding more on more levels all at the same time.

What if...we're just waking up from a very deep sleep, unaware that we have been asleep, walking around, carring on lives in other dimensions and never even knew that in these other dimensions we were very different people, doing amazing, brilliant things, traveling through time and space, having families who could walk through walls, and move things with just a thought...
What if that's going on...
What if?

I stood on a chair, straining to see out an open window.
The sky was a perfect blue, just turning it's eyes tord sunset.
Truth stepped beside me and asked me what did I see.

What did I see. What a question. What do I see when a window opens that shows something so beautiful as to defy words?
The post by Bunk, Reality 101, is such a window.
I have to thank him for opening it to show such a beautiful sky.

To answer truth as she/he is waiting for me to tell her/him what I see, it's this, that with in every star is the possiblity of the human heart, soul and spirit.
That all of us are more than just souls seperated by skin, but we are all flowing over, around and through each other. Most of the time we just don't know it.

And for all my crazy moments, all my dark rooms and thoughts, when someone comes along and opens a window like Bunk did, it makes staying around well worth it.
Thank you.

I was thinking this morning about on line journals v.s paper journals and I began to wonder something.

When a person keeps an on line journal does that make them a type of exibitionist, and the people who read them a type of voyer? The reason this question crossed my mind is because of the rating system here. The other on line journal I keep has no rating system, and so there is no way to tell if anyone reads your journal entries. It give it the feel of being very private. And that gives way to being more raw at times, because of the illusion that no one is watching.

When I came here and started writing I figured that no one would read what I had to say even though it's on line and completely public. I figured that like my other journal, which with the exception of one comment to one entry by someone I know, there have been no comments, giving me the illusion that it was hidden in some dark corner, and all of my intense, ravings about things like the ones I keep in my paper journals, that this too would be a place where my thoughts would go unnoticed. But after learning more about this site and that people have the ablity to rate what your saying, that changed how I approached writing here. I found that how I wrote here was different, not as dark or as intense as I do in my other on line journal.

Then as I was thinking about it today, it made me wonder if keeping an on line journal, and reading what was going on in other peoples lives made me both a type of exibitionist and a voyer. Then I had to ask myself if that's what keeping an on line journal is even partly about, does that make me some kind of twisted individual, who needs approval, and who needs watch other peoples lives from a detached place, and end up having some kind of opinion of who they are? If I met any of them in my travles and found out they were someone who's journal I'd been reading and had a bad opinion of them, would it keep me from getting to know them in person?

I think, after sorting through all of this, that I've come to some sort of conclusion about myself. That knowing what I say is being read that it does affect what I write here. If I wrote the same kinds of things here that I do in my paper journals and the other on line journal, I suspect that I might been seen as someone who desperately needs psycheratic help and a unabriged dictionary, I know the dictionary thing would be ok, because when I start writing I end up mispelling words because I'm typing too fast.
I'm not sure how I feel about all of this....and if I let you see all sides of the inside of me, will you take up rocks and throw them or will it cause you to weep, or simply walk away, or will you stay, because I'm as human as you...

He left part of himself here
the other day.
And to pay him hommage
because we miss him
we ended up framing
his empty cigarette package.

You haven't gone far.
I can still smell your thoughts.
They linger
some like onions and fish
others like herbs drying in the sun
or summer roses
all warm and rich,
and still others
like burned left overs
stuck to the bottom
of my favorite pan.

Sitting at the kitchen table
drinking coffee and watching morning
taking it's time.
I'm reminded that hours pass to fast
and days sometimes get caught up
tangled and wired to fall down.

Reality comes to reason with me
telling me so many things are like the dirt
which gets into everything
and no matter how hard I try
it will be there long after me.

"It just is." My determined companion tells me
with out emotion.
"It just is"
And the rain comes. Breaks away.
And then comes again. Only harder this time.
Washing the dirt and grit
down and making mud and pools.

The pools reflect the sky.
If you move your head to different places
you can see the trees.
And if you stand directly over it
you can see you.
A darker version of you.
All shadowy
like a stranger standing in the way
blocking the sun.

The mud clings.
Like determined resolutions
made on January 1st.
You can scrape them away
with the first excuse that passes by.
Feel guilty.
Feel regret.
And hate your self for failing.
The mud reminds you
just by being there
that life is a series
of falling down
and getting up
over and over again.

The house is quiet
except for reality
that's staring me in the face,
getting in my face
telling me so many things
that I already feel
grating at my soul
and my dreams.
I could be bitter
and I have been bitter
and ugly
and angry.
But not today.
Today is a good day
because it's going to be
what I choose to make it.
Inspite of
what reality is telling me
that I have to worry about.

The mirror cracked. You could hear the sound from across the room. Feel it shaking your soul. The the whole world stopped. For a split second.
You barely breathed. The it happened, the mirror fell off the wall and shattered. The beautiful mirror. The way things are. The comfort zones we find ourselves in, where we feel like everything is perfect.

Life it seems, is not content to let us just go through. Things happen, our world falls apart. Everything seems to be nothing but wreckage. But like the first spring flowers that push up through the snow to tell us that the sleep is almost done, life has a way of showing us that though the glass we loved is now in peices and seems worthless, it's not. There is more light surfaces to catch the sun, more patients, more tenderness, more humanity in our soul. That's the upside to the things that come into our lives that change everything.

There are crickets in here. Making music and it's about 5 something a.m.
I've just spent the last hour and a half reading posts and journal entries here. Lots and lots of thoughts and ideas.
Good early morning reading when you can't sleep or even when you can, but reading each one makes you want to read more.

I enjoy comming to this place and reading what people have to say, and then taking time to write about something that's gotten lodged in my gray matter and needs somewhere to be let loose. Kind of like letting a bird with a once broken wing, that's finally healed, set free.

When I come here and read through the pages of journals and the topics in the forums, I feel like I've walked into a massive library with some of the finest unsung authors of our time.
Reading one post is never enough, it's kind of like eating peanuts, one is never enough.

I found this place one night because I wondered what would come up if I searched for giant flying dildos. I figured I'd ether run into a page that read "sorry your search was unsucessful, or run into pages of something that would read like "we saw them, up in the sky and to our horror they were getting ready to attack us..."
But instead I found this place. I'm glad I did that crazy search because it lead me to this place.
A place where there is so much rich stuff in the way of thoughts and ideas.