the nature of rest


I’d done that, this weekend.

A time of deep respite.

It was the first time, in a long time, that I’d rested — without having some need to work. I did work, but I worked on art made, gifts created.

Simple things: drawn on stone, brushed on wood. Written on paper, typed notes on meditations.

When I did rest, I dreamt cinematically. Meaning what? I dreamed of long dreams and visions that carried me someplace else. I solved, in a psychic way, visions that had been battering me, in a way. Working too much, too hard, too long. And in resting, in a kind of sequence of naps, I gathered what I read, and interpreted it in my mind’s visioning.

There were many things gathered — too much to scribe here. But I went down, explored, wandered in the palace of memory, learning, looking, contemplating — and coloring in the dreamscape.

What came of it?

I went to bed late, arose strikingly early — full of more. Wanting more, to the beginnings of the day.

Somehow, I’m thinking that I will come to some maturing, in the learnings of these recurrent archetypes.

But I’m not sure when, or how. Having spun some fifty plus times round this Sun, I’d think that I would’ve learned more. But in learning one thing, you lean to another — and in that leaning, you step to another moss covered stone in the path of experience.

I go there. And will go there again.

Happy, then, that I can stride. Keep moving, in the pensive reflections of that — those moments of light — when an exposure occurs and I am renewed in the indices of a vision.


T | Queen Anne Hill