November 18, 2013

Turbulent waking after a strange, long dream. I’d parked to meet a friend at a restaurant, and when I came out my car had been smashed on both sides. I was sure it was my car, because that’s where I remembered parking it. My key even worked in the door, though the car was white, whereas mine was red. I went to look for someone in authority, which became a search– protracted, and through acres of abandoned industrial lots where one might conceivably park– for my real car. I eventually found it. Sweaters were piled on and around it, as though someone had been having an outdoor sale. The parking attendant found me instantly (she was British). She joked around and reduced the price of the fee.

Met the steam locomotive again at the Biltmore crossing after church. I blessed it.

Disappointing senior reading. Some sameness has crept in, that we used to avoid.

Rose this morning to go to the Y. The morning was perfect in beauty. The stars twinkled, making the clouds vaguely purple under them. The clear big moon shone directly down the stone path I had to take to the alley. All was, for those moments, perfect.

Hit it hard at the Y. I was having breathing issues on the cross trainer, but there was no pain and my heart rate was steady, so I kept on. Regularized my breath. At the end I felt so good it was almost inexpressible– like I was some serpent that had left its old skin against a rock on the forest, gleaming out now into the first rays of morning.