i don't remember taking this last night…???….but it was here this morning so i must have. And i dreamed, nothing really different than is common, but it left me with a very strong Knowing. Not a statement, like the Narrator Dreams, but a very very STRONG conviction that i got up with, to write down because i didn't want to lose it. I think i can't give words to it, really, but it's important to try. The nights dreaming ended with me coming "back" "home" from somewhere. I have a young child with me. I am carrying a dust pan. As i approach, i can see through the windows that there are Many people inside, one in particular and i try to think of who he is, thinking all these people are friends of my dead husband, the Maniac. A party, kind of. So i raise my dust pan as a sign of ….of what?, ….of well, a sign of something. And the door opens and i realize that they are police who have raided my home and the Maniac and his friends are just taking it as an "Oh Well" moment, but i stand there, with the child, with my dustpan. Waiting to see how they, the police, are going to View ME. Will i be arrested too? Guilty by association Or will they "Understand" what my story was/is?
and that's when i woke. What i was Given from this dream is that our Stories are so Deeply Woven, so Complex, so so deeply woven and complex that they could not possibly be told in just some paragraphs, or pages. Hours or weeks or months. That if you would ever want to know someone's Story, if you would ever ASK them about it, you should need to be prepared to listen for days and months and maybe even years. You should be prepared to LISTEN to ALL of IT, all the seemingly fragmented threads and keep listening, keep paying such close attention that you become familiar with the fragmented threads and begin to see how they tangle to become the whole, to become the Experience of the Story. And if you are not prepared to do that, you should not ask. Because asking anyone for a fast and simple answer is really, wounding them. Because they will try to answer you with as much truth as they can pack into a sentence or two, but…really, it diminishes What It Took to SURVIVE something with some shred of self left to ……Just Go.
Liminal. When the veil is thin.
Just before light, there were Shrill sounds Out there. I pulled the Blue Aluminum chair over to the fence and could see shapes. As light came the sounds continued and the Doe Goats had created their Arc of Alert…all lining up in a curve facing the Unknown. Back Out, i see this. A black pony. Pony meaning full grown horse of small stature. He is a stallion. Escaped. And running the fence line right next to us, making those two horses crazy. Back and forth. Those sounds.
after a while two trucks come. they block the road on both ends, crosswise and a man with a lasso deftly catches HIM and drives away, his arm out the window of the truck, the Pony running along side., captured, screaming.
so the Roots
windthread 
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