From my sketchbook

October 8, 2011

Last night I dreamed about braided waves of rainbow wheat all over the side of my safe place hill. The rainbow sections looked chaotic all together yet were neatly organized sections when I think about it. They held a definite color and shape, they had a definite direction. They blew neatly in braids though the wind must have been blowing from all sides. From where within me did this unexpected dream originate?

Earlier in the evening, while watching the movie Drive, I had been infected by the on-screen depiction of the city of LA. (I remember the opening scene of Limitless had this same effect on me, though I could not yet articulate the experience.) The city. The endless movement. The lights. Like a rushing wind to the face, I had to turn my head to catch my breath. Soul deeply stirring, I vividly imagined blood coursing through my veins like time-lapsed traffic in the city, my pulsing body glittery with flickering lights. All this as I safely sat in my over-stuffed red velvet chair at the Warren Theatre right here in Wichita, Kansas.

Last weekend, in KC, I both craved and hated the city’s pulse. I sat and stirred my cream-swirled dark roast from the second story window and looked over the Plaza. Expensive sunglasses. Electric heaters extending summer. Perfectly smooth “sun-streaked” hair. Under-stuffed shopping bags. A father “brunching” with his drooling daughter who sat beside him in her wheel-chair. The din of conversation. Tight jeans. Tight bodies. Expensive shoes. Tailored clothing. Cell-phone snapshots. Crossed legs with leather loafers loosely attached. The homeless beggar whose “daughter has a birthday”. The street performer standing on the corner endlessly sedating the crowd with flat "sassy-sax" (as my brother would call it). The fantastical fountain in which humans sprout tails and hooves (or is it that the animals are generously given perfect human heads?) continues to bubble and flow. I smile at the backs of boutique dressed children who are beautiful in spite of their loud clothing because they are unaware they are on display. The amazing man sitting across from me simultaneously begins two of three common conversations. 

Would I like another refill? 

My body falls into place and the weight of it all serves as an anchor. I must sit here every chance I get.