trance stories: big snow

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With the snow falling perpetually since yesterday, it’s hard not to have thoughts of wandering out into the forest. Its paths meander under the cover of cottonwoods, which provide only a little shelter from the floating specks of white frozen water. It’s not a day for driving. It’s a day for faring forth. If you look at the snow a certain way, it becomes brilliant and buzzing with energy and light. Who knows, maybe that’s just the way my eyes work. My father tells me it’s an optical illusion, that there aren’t really buzzing beads of sentient light living in the snow, sky and water. I tell him that if he were an actual physician, I’d still take his prognosis lightly. He believes the world is run by corporations. I believed world is run by magic. We’re both deluded. But isn’t delusion just another word for perspective?

I think to last night’s connection with Mal the Cottonwood in the only park not patrolled by Paladins. No truck dared patrol in the snowstorm. If I had any doubts that the Paladins were here for our protection, they’ve been exacerbated by their absence in the snowstorm, where we need them the most. I don’t mind. I’m the only one in the park. I’m resourceful. My van is filled with survival gear. I’d at least make it a couple of days if necessary.

I experimented with music this time. It was good. I also have a scent I can use for future meditations. I beat drums and spoke the mind-calming. Doing these practices is really sucking me in. It’s very relaxing to be in the embrace of Mal, and to be in the rhythm of the drum.

My dream after all this snow and drum-beating was like this:

A group of friends is arguing over a situation I have limited participation in. One guy slept with another guy who slept with a girl who had an STI, but one obtained DNA evidence of the affair and was going to report the person with the STI for not disclosing the infection. Three girls in the group tried to get the evidence from the guy. He won’t succumb. Most of the time is spent hanging out and listening to these people complain about the situation.

Sometimes my dreams seem so believable and real that I kind of wish they were more symbolic and abstract. I could have easily seen something like this on TV, or among my own friends. I have such an active imagination. I feel like I encounter more magic in my waking life than in my dreams. If I were to analyze this one, I would say that my social work is starting to enter my imagination. I often find myself in dream-states where I am witnessing conversations about topics and just thinking about when I can escape, and go off into the world. Is that my reality? Is the banality of regular human interaction stifling my soul?

Or, alternatively, is the world of magic but an escape route for a mind that is strongly aware of its material limitations?

However you conceive of it, there’s something else, something beyond ordinary reality that keeps calling me close.

I wonder where this will lead.

Skål min venner!

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