One Way

I dreamt I moved into a loft apartment overlooking the Lake. A storm whipped the water into translucent brown and whitecaps, with thick roils of grey clouds pushing through the sky. The wind shook this apartment like a dog with a rag, but in the dream it was fascinating rather than frightening. My cats were with me, and were adjusting to the Asian decor of mats on the floor; I had painted the eyes of Buddha on the wall, omniscient and all-seeing. The shaking of the room from the storm wasn't pleasant to them, but they joined me as I lay on my stomach to watch from the low window the iron ships on the horizon cut through waves. There was a knock at the door.

It was my boyfriend who wanted to help finish moving my boxes in, and build something of wood inside the apartment, don't remember what, and then trot off to temple. I was dressed in plain Asian costume, and thinner. Go me. Who knows. The sensation of shaking and the violent waves has stayed with me, at least till the next jolt of life cycles by. Curious.

Ordinary Sunday, ordinary paper, cuppa coffee, shredded wheat, can of cat food popped open and divided. Son went to Ocean City for the weekend, just where those sharks were sighted offshore. I have received no calls, so I assume that no passing mako has been adopted and brought back to live with him and Dana.

The humidity has let up, appreciated by all except green growing things and the mushrooms. A storm is predicted tonight, and the winds will bulldoze this shallow lake water towards the eastern end of the basin, crushing the water against the stone structures of rip rap designed to manage the flow into navigable channels. Rip rap, $1.88 per ton in 1905.

Pay attention to sleep. Do something to promote a calming environment, even if that is only putting a feather you found into a glass near your pillow. This is your foundation, your rip rap to build a structure upon within an area that takes care of you. Clutter makes people nervous, so keep it down. No pictures of your parents. Insulate into a cocoon of nothing except that which forms a solitude woven of wood, of water, of stone, of air, of spirit in breathing in and out. Good night, good night, good mystery of unconscious night.