mymachinedream
This hit me like a silver thread through my mind. It blew away my cobwebs and brought me back. Brought me back to where i was. I remember this moment and time.
This was the beginning. I went to this place and worked on waking up. I can’t imagine how long it has been between then and now. Or how long i think it is between then and now. I have a hard time with dates and times. Keeping them apart and keeping the moment of today from running into tomorow.
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I am piecing together what this world means. I think i am at least. I don’t know how to frame what I have found. Lying here, in this bed. I realized it a little the other day when the room had changed. Now I can’t remember what the change was. Maybe the color of the walls. Maybe the sheet?
It is fading. Already it is fading and falling away. So strange how the moments like this fall away. The sounds and the smells seem like the would never leave my mind. Like I would spend the rest of my time on earth thinking of this one thing. Over and over, and repeating in my mind that moment. But it washes away. Sooner than I think it would go. Where does it go, when it falls away from my mind. What falls away first.
I keep wondering what i lose first. What part of the dream, what part of the memory fades first. It seems the first thing i lose is the sound. I remember so many memories, and find myself filling in the sounds around what I know the sound must have been. I remember what rain sounds like, and my brain just puts the sound of rain into my dreams. But this, the first thing going is the feeling. The touch and the sense of pressure. I remember from just a moment back that I could feel the pressure of my stomach and the feeling of tightness and skin. Now though, i can’t remember the exact feeling.
The smell though, i remember the smell. It was coming from this white spread across his skin. He smelled like new bread. Yeasty and fresh. The smell of all growing things, of a health i can’t remember anything in the world smelling like. If this was a smell of the beginning and the smell of all wholesome thing. It is so hard to explain. So hard to put some basic things into words. How to explain something so pure and unique. It wasn’t like yeast and bread, but my brain thought that was the smell. It reminded me of earth, but that wasn’t the smell. It smelled clean, but also not clean. How can one thing have so many different descriptors.
This memory like everything else is receding. Falling away and slowly becoming background. Memory that will still be tucked away, but like a silent movie. No sound or feeling or connection, just this thing there sitting in my mind. I remember reading a book somewhere that tells that the more that you think about something, the more it isn’t real. Your mind can’t remember all the details and starts to replace things. The sounds weren’t right. Then your mind goes about convincing you that they were that way the whole time. Then you can’t remember anything but what you inserted into the memory.
I know this is what is happening to me. As i speak, my mind is filing away all these moments, and is replacing them with things that are false. And then my brain can’t remember that they are false, and goes about rebuilding them and convincing itself it is true.
Will i forget my son? Will i forget the smell of new bread that came off his skin so clearly? What happens to this, and was this real in the first place? Can someone bring this back to me to remember.
This was a dream that stood up on it’s own. Like something out of someone’s life that wasn’t mine. It must have been someone else, but It is harder and harder to tell the difference. I saw it all so clearly, so perfect. I almost felt the emotions, but there was this wall of glass between what was happening and what I was feeling. Like looking in on something in a fishtank. Swimming and living, and distinct. I remember the feelings though, and the smell. Like a list of characters, and words. Symbols of what I was seeing and what was attached to each event.
I have to remember this, and start to put it into some form that stays in my mind. Things seem to slip away sometimes, and they should be there, but they aren’t. I know that I need to remember this, but at the same time if it fades like the other memories, i feel like i will still have it with me. It needs to remain, it has to feel burnt into place.
I remember the feeling of the birth, the body and the pain. I remember the feelings of my stomach pulling itself inward. Pain was so sharp, but after so long, it was like the pain was who i was. I couldn’t remember a time when i didn’t hurt, and it was now just a core part of me. I remember also this sense of peace. Like this was right and this was human. Something that was beyond my understanding and also so pure that it didn’t even need to be understood.
I remember the feeling that somehow I was a string, and i was in the process of tying another piece of string to mine. Like I needed to badly tie a knot between us, and let this string start to unwind from me. But at the same time, it was connected to me. It threw my mind back, and I realized that I was connected to a thread, and so was that thread. We were the warp, the woof was everyone passing along the thread to hold it in place. The warp was unending and timeless.
But then the pain, the feeling of being too tight. My whole body felt too tight. Like the skin couldn’t hold what I was doing in any longer. Something was bursting out, and needing to be freed or I would rip apart. Come apart at the seams and fall to pieces. This feeling was something so new, and so primal. I couldn’t tell you how long each burst last. It seemed timeless and too short at the same moment. Something so much a part of me that I knew i couldn’t forget. At the same time though I knew that my brain was washing itself in a way to make this pain fall away. Something to keep the moment at bay.
My son was being born. I remember that moment. The moment it came back to me what was happening. What was being done. What was going on, and what it meant for me and every thread going back down the line above me. Every line that would be held in place by his. Something was happening, and I could feel it so clearly.
This memory seems so real. I just need a moment to think, a moment to reflect. Maybe if I close my eyes for a minute, the details will be clear. The moment will seem real, or i will know if that was me. Did I have this memory?
Grey Staircase Up or Down?
So I have to ask myself, if I am pulling away filters from each step as I wake up, what do I start with? What is the first filter you need to move? What would that look like, is it pulling a rod attached to blinds? Pulling a cloth across a window? Is it slipping lens before your eyes and losing the color blue. I always imagine our filters are woven fabric used to filter water. Giant black tendrels weaving in and out of each other. Small enough, and you could live on the threads, and grow your whole life on one section of the filter. Large enough and you are forced into the weave. You push up against the cloth and are pinned as everything flows around you. How many smaller things are flowing around the obstruction in the way, and do they notice anything different in the way they see the world? Do they seem faster than those next to them? Do they rush forward towards something, away from something? Filters are odd things to think about.
So does my day start out with me remembering nothing? Or everything. Am I removing all of the filters I’ve learned how to remove or add to make my life what it seems to be about. Or is the day started like a saved game or started movie, taken off pause or reloaded. I’ve gone off track, as I tend to do. I’m sure I was going somewhere with that thought, but I don’t know exactly where it was going.
One thing that I know that I am in love with is the feeling of stretching out my legs when I wake up. Something about that intense first feeling of everything pulling out. It is like potential, something building. They are often sore, and weary from the day before, but always energized for that first moment. I’ve started the day with so many stretches, they are all blending together. What goes into the thought that remembers that my body needs to move? Is it just basic biology. Is my body just knowing that moving the legs first thing is the best way to keep myself safe? Like baby deer or giraffe that are born and start walking. You know the first thing your day may call for is to run. Or to jump or dance. Or just to lay in peace and happiness and just rest and stretch. What if we are pulling our legs out to pull the vessels in our legs longer so that the negative pressure caused blood to pull faster into the extremities. What if this life was that much of a machine. What if it is all pressure gradients and volumes. What if we are a math problem, what is the equation that we would write out to explain each movement in our day. How would we wrap our mind around the variables? Can we take each moment and wake each portion of our body and mind at such a speed that we can see each letter and number etched out to pull the equation together. Another day is beginning, and I think I could lay here a few more minutes if I need to.