Limbo of Past and Future, Conjoined.

 

The Cure’s “Doing the Unstuck”

A weird TBT post, I know. But things are weird in the Chaos Realm as of late. Weirder than usual, anyway.

Been seeing the previews for that TV show, Timeless, on NBC. I really thought it was a show  based on the books by Connie Willis (about the exploits of time-traveling historians/history detectives.) but it wasn’t, sadly. Or thankfully, since I typically like the book versions better.

Right now, like a time traveller perhaps, I feel stuck between my past and a nebulous future (imagine if there really were such a thing as reincarnation, and you were getting hints of your future life–that’s what it feels like). It’s really weird, like depression, but not really, just a confusing mass of sh*t that’s all swirling around and hard to figure out. Or move forward. Limbo, essentially. Or a purgatory, Dante-style. And it’s not even really good nostalgia, either, just more of a hindsight wake-up call about the things I should done differently, and how I should have reacted to the situations I was in–made different decisions–chose a different path, character-wise. Chose to be me in different, better ways. It’s weird, because I’ve never been one to really dwell on things, just pick myself up, dust myself off, and plan a new adventure, or a new life track. But, after 437 beat-downs/put-downs, I’m feeling a little weary, as you can imagine. LOL Maybe I’m thinking about all this as part of life lessons for a next life…or so goes the thought path my imagination runs away with, on occasion. (The curse of being a creative thinker–always walking that fine line between imagination and madness, right? Those gymnastics Olympians on the balance beam have nothing on us!).

It’s like the past and some unknown future are being combined into one, and I can see the path lines that are shaping me up for a future. Time in the present feels like doesn’t really exist in this little limbo pocket of introspection right now. It’s a very odd sensation, because I’m going about my business of (endlessly) trying to find a job, feed the cat, go to the store, pay bills, take the trash to the dump, clean house, and other mundane life stuff.

Just trying to find meaning to it all. Sometimes there’s a little light in flashes of synchronicity (coincidence, I know) in lucid dreams that I’ve been having that are just so vivid, even for this dreamer of five to six lifelike dreams a night.

A few nights ago, I dreamed I was trying to warn someone to evacuate with their animals, and it kinda turned into a nightmare. I was screaming at them, “Just leave. You’re in danger.” but they just went about their day, like I was invisible. I didn’t even know what the danger was, but somebody was harassing me to make sure I told this individual. Like I was at work, and had to get a job done, but I was just slacking off. I didn’t even really know who the individual was, really, I have just attached the moniker “Figment” to the individual (as in figment of my imagination, of course) just because they keep appearing in my dreams.

So, I’m just trying to meditate, perform little rituals to anyone who may be listening, make a bucket list for my future life (lives) just for fun, write, and dream of figments and other worlds. Maybe out of all these practices, guidance will come from somewhere. Because I’m quite stuck. And I’m not used to being stuck. Or in an indecisive limbo. (<–bulldozer in human form.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday Sloth(s)

A little while ago, somebody in the Twitter world posted a few pictures of a baby sloth, along with some poetic, evocative turn-of-phrases that stayed with me. I wasn’t sure about posting the link for the photos, permission-wise, even though posting on Twitter is invariably public-access, I’m guessing (?).

Most of the stuff on Twitter I just like and move on–it’s pretty ephemeral in nature, even if it’s deep in nature, incredibly lovely photos of insects, birds or animals, or just plain fluff to look at while I have my morning tea and wait to wake up.

But those photos, poetics aside, reminded me that it is possible for humans and animals to have a deeper connection. The question that’s been on my mind is “Why not”. Why the encouraged distance between most humans and animals? I was thinking of this filmed bit of cows in a slaughterhouse–maybe it was courtesy of Morgan Spurlock…or PETA…can’t really remember the source, sorry, as I’ve seen so much of that sort of disturbing footage over the years as a vegetarian/animal rights advocate/volunteer that, terribly, I lose track.  I just don’t understand how people can calmly stand by and not be affected by the very real trauma and fear cows for slaughter, or animals used in testing, and lots more examples, go through. It’s so evident. People are always saying that I’m just projecting, or being overly sensitive, or any of the 101 criticisms people like to say about me, but I still can’t imagine standing by and watching an animal suffer like that. To deliberately inflict pain. I would probably starve to death if I had to actually hunt my own food for survival, even though you never know what you would do to survive until you are actually placed into that situation. I’m a bit of a grumpy misanthrope a**kicker type in real life (or so people say, anyway) but I still can’t imagine the hate and invectives levelled at “the other” (people who aren’t like some imagined, fictional “ourselves”).

Arrgh, I’m not writing this very well. It’s just been an off week or two, what with all these strange dreams and the summer heat/blues and such.

I know that I rescued two spiders and an earwig of some kind out of my tub today. That I said good morning to my little spider buddy in the window when I got up, who was having a bit of breakfast, albeit somewhat gruesomely. I’ve spoiled my cat BFF, Cricket, even more this week (if that’s even possible).

But, I felt the usual twinges of guilt over having (organic, free-range, hormone free) cheese on my beans and toast, and honey in my tea. *wry laugh*

And I still wondered over the plague of humankind swarming over the earth, and the inevitable consequences of being human myself on this threatened, wonderfully diverse planet. And feeling that all my well-meaning actions were just tiny specks against a flood of destruction.

A crisis of faith/spirituality? Or just a midlife crisis? Or just a bout of the blues this week…I don’t know.

I still hope that love can win out over hate. That the world can be saved, with all its lovely plants, trees, flowers, insects, animals…diversity of life, essentially. But can it happen as long as humans live on the planet, too?

If Trump wins the election…well, I just don’t know. I would hate to assign any sort of impact that man can have on history and the course of the world, but…well, we all know what impact one person can make on history.

I know that those pictures of the baby sloth made me feel a bit of hope…because they just seemed to capture a poignant connection and communication made between human and animal (the words that went along with the photos really helped illustrate the photo, too). But maybe I’m just projecting. Or so my critics would say. But, as Fox Mulder would say: “I want to believe.”