I would give all my time

This dreary exhaustion is like a dream.  Maybe I will open the journal I have started for my Carl Jung class as school.  I will look on the pages where I track my nighttime dreams and the cycles of my month and the moon.  I will see my day written out in funny scrawl.  It will be illustrated here and there in colored pencils and on the side in magnetic yellow: highlights of the theme.  I will think this is my day?  My day to day living or this was last night's image on my mindscreen?

Maybe I will not know the difference.

This is numinousness.  The seeds of the new life the momentum of their growth to come vibrating around them in a visceral humm.  You can feel it but not see it yet, the pulse of energy stronger than anything yet seen.  On the sundeck eating a ridiculous burrito reading about Jack Kerouac.  He skipped classes in school to read forbidden plays and books bc college in NY brought him closer to such contraband.  I feel better about myself.  Clear my phlegmy throat pull my sunglasses down. Put off the four papers that I put off until today.  Dyad in the morning go introduce yourself to the director at the site where you hope to get your supervised internship before noon.  I work for myself get that in, too. Grateful that the need for money is met by something that stimulates my mind and spirit in the way Kerouac and burritos do, and the sun.  Off to Starbucks to write for my submission to Erika also due.  Nicci writes the girl from GRO lets start a girl's surf reskill.  I would give all my time to that and the words and sacred dreams...O wait, that's just what I'm learning to do:  Climb the rock stairs up to Serena's in the canyon chill and dark.  Snuggle on her couch in our pj's discuss business plans.  The lady in Corona about the writing critique-group emails.  They are giving me the last spot, spot number 9.  I'm in.  It's all happening.  Funny dream.

Write a blog not to procrastinate more but to download it all out.  Make room by getting it all down.  This time last year I slept on a couch in Sonoma.  My belongings all in my car.  Red woods trees in the fog dripped through offerings.  I sat stunned over what next in life at Goats Rock.  Never imagined the sea could pound waking out of a life partly asleep. Watched the full moon rise flat disc, white.  Lived on homemade toffee, eggs and Indian food.  Chopped wood and built fires in a woodstove it took an hour to light.

Go write your papers Kelly.  I'm trying, I want to get it all down.