Today it occurred to me in an aimless moment that every day I go to school in a Dream. When I am asleep I'm at `Home' so to speak---and every morning when I wake up, it's like I'm back at Dream School. I mean---is it just me or has `Reality' with the capitol R started to feel like four walls on a movie set? Let's be frank. We all pretty much know that Someone's out there, watching us, waiting---but we're like newborn kittens with our eyes sealed shut. We can't hear Them because our ears are not ready to assimilate that level of sound. We can only feel their ambience, the Breath of Life. I wanted to write a poem about this but my notebook was in the suitcase in the back of the car.
Then it occurred to me that I wasn't supposed to write a poem because I was supposed to keep on thinking---or rather catching these thoughts as they were flying by. And as usual my thoughts took a nosedive down into my---self! I started thinking about that sometimes sticky wicket---personal history and about how at this awkward juncture (and aren't they all?) between what is and what has been---that it could possibly be time for some revisions. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Instead of adding reforming myself, maybe I need to reframe my worn out concept about what I am trying to do (and not getting done)---because regardless of what I think I am supposed to be doing---there is always something else that seems to be getting done instead. So instead of making that all wrong why not try to just see it differently i.e., peacefully?
In my early years, the process of becoming adult-like was somewhat like selecting a wardrobe or going on a treasure hunt for concepts---philosophical and cosmetic, holy and wholly egotistical---all mashed together and crammed into a persona inside a body that more often than not failed to comply. It was about Dreams of Possibility, about what if's and could do's. Then somewhere it morphed and turned into learning about consequences, you know, the baggage that tags along, insinuating itself into every party. We're talking fatal flaws, fateful attractions, the damned if you do damned if you don't type things. This is the stuff that at first seems like a tangent, a distraction because it doesn't have much to do with the really important stuff that you think you are supposed to be doing with your life. Funny how these distracting little side issues have a way of worming their way into the Main Course---Reality 101. And suddenly this is what your life is about---something you never really intended.
But I have discovered the beauty of the Reframe and a way to opt out of the stress of failed attainments. All you have to do is shift any ambition into something that can't fail. For this reason, I am officially putting Writing back into the category of a Hobby alongside Housekeeping and Making Money. The sheer brilliance of this move astounds me! Could my real purpose be to Play? What a concept! I've always secretly suspected this but in a guilty sort of way because to admit it in public would mean I wasn't a real grownup. But by now I can safely say I am Real and I am Growing Up and here a vital distinction reveals itself! The term grown up implies a finalized version. This can lead to chronic Adolt-hood---a very past tense mental orientation. In contrast, the term `growing up' suggests someone still in the process of discovery. Perhaps this is the individual who has yet to cross all the t's and dot all the eyes. This person could very well be the sheepish one lurking about trying to blend in , trying to appear important and all about business while secretly afraid that their shirt has come untucked.
In a way it all boils down to a cosmic sort of grammar lesson---the difference between nouns and verbs. Don't get me wrong! I have not graduated to the state of Infinite Verb-ness---I've only heard about it! I come every day to Dream School to untangle myself from the suffocating veils of Nouns that overlay my Identity---the Be's that want to define Beth; the Be This and Be That kind of thing. Perhaps I am more Be-seiged by it than most and that is why I have to spend my time thinking about this stuff.
But whatever the excuse, I am returned again and again to the value of Play. Play can be Work but in a fun way, without the Pressure of Being Important. The real bugaboo with being a Grown Up is that it implies doing something really important or at least marginally useful. So now, as a Drama Teacher and a Writer of Fictionaries, I feel called upon to defend the Beauty of Play; and not only the Value but the Necessity, the Importance ---neigh---the Divinity of Play! ( and hence all the capitalizations)
True, on the Plate of Life, it could be considered dessert as in highly optional and even self indulgent. You may even call it Airey Fairy or Artsy Fartsy but I say it is something not nearly so lofty. Like everything else, we impose limitations, structures. There are rules in our play. It is not chaos. Learning to play with reality is an endorphin that is highly addictive---but a healthy addiction, unlike the deadness so rampant in modern living habits. Also, Creativity is often a living link to something internally Divine. You may say that I am just trying to sound important--but be forbearing. Deep down you know what it, too. You want to set that magical inner child free to play again.
So back to the dream...
