Reason has returned to the land of Who I Am. The fires still burn, the floods still rage, and will always do so. But the stars and the night sky have wrapped me in their velvet warmness.

A dreamer leant some inspiration to me today, and it was just what I needed. A dream of a far off place in a far off time doing far off things. She and I have healed a lot of things between us, without that kind of effort that makes you wonder why you’re doing what you’re doing. We’ve healed by just being us, and that’s storybook perfect.

Apparently, eggs come much closer to tasting perfect when you cook them in threes. There is a completely different taste, and it’s just what I usually want. That, and nothing seems to stick to the pan. Yeah, it’s the little things that are important. Like completely scouring the Michigan Talent Bank yesterday. Like scouring the State of Michigan openings today. Like being determined to walk to the Union to work on my book.

Anybody have a spare hard drive they’re not using?

Meditation and I have never gotten along really well. My mind wanders so quickly and so far that calming falls away to storytelling. I latch on to the easiest distraction that comes my way, just for something to grab onto. And, in the worst possible scenario, the quiet and even breathing and environment brought about by meditation drops me into sleep and the accompanying earth-shattering snoring. This chain of reasoning leads me to one conclusion:

Active meditation.

Active. Motion-intensive. Most likely something involving exercise and use of strength. In this, my mind is occupied by the process of moving the activity from a step-by-step algorithm in my head into something that I just do. The breathing is still even, but it doesn’t lend itself to sleep. Not to mention the release of excess and stored energy that’s involved. The bits of my life that point toward this as a solution are nearly infinite and completely obvious. Which is, of course, why they’ve remained unseen and ignored.

Taking the first step into getting back in the habit of daily exercise is scaring the shit out of me right now. More than when I started Kung Fu. More than when I stopped Kung Fu. Why is doing the right thing freaking me out?

“If you shove a shit-ton of energy into and through the third eye, something’s BOUND to open up.”

Her eyes widened in what seemed like shock and a touch of horror when I said that. My voice was business tinged with mischievous.

“I’m sure you’ve learned more control since then.” “I wasn’t even really trying, I was just being.”

My mouth curled in a smirk when confronted by the only person that has ever beat me in an all-out energy push. And he wasn’t even trying. My energy is under the faintest amount of control, which is better than it was that day. I still favor the massive blast vs. the surgical strike. I always played Colossus when I played the X-Men arcade game.

Visualizing is only the first step in putting will to reality. Motion with purpose must follow.

For last night’s transgressions, I am being punished with a developing pimple on the end of my nose. How ridiculously fitting.

The gears and cogs of the Inter-Web clicked in such a way that my mailbox was finally attacked by all of the LJ comments that I had missed while the email address was down. Who’d guess that this would be part of putting things back together?

I’m still wandering in a bit of a fog, and I decidedly did NOT remain on the crag and watch the weather. Instead, I took my warhammer and smacked myself in the head over and over and over again. For some reason, my warhammer resembled half of a fifth of Jose Quervo Especial tequila. While I had consumed the entirety of that inebriating liquid in forty-five minutes, I was paying for it for many, many hours to come. Not this morning, though, no hangover.

I also owe and my life. They watched over me, forced me not to go to sleep until I could focus my eyes without getting nauseous, and pampered me the entire time. I also vaguely remember paper towels with cool water being patted on me. I cannot thank them enough. More later, when the world pulls itself together a bit more.

I can picture myself standing on top of a rocky crag, the October wind and rain whipping around me, my heart skipping a beat and my face glowing. I’ve visited this cliff often, and the dirt is shuffled with prints from different styles of boots and high-top sneaker. Yeah, this place is familiar. I crouch down without using my hands to balance me (something my knees have recently allowed me to do) and draw some random designs amongst the sole prints.

Behind me, where the land is solid and flat, lightning crashes overhead. Ahead of me, amongst the mountains, valleys, and crags, the snow has begun to fall. I feel like I could be here forever, watching the weather and the rocks. Just breathing and living.

I really, honestly, truly, deeply feel that it is the daily battle with the concept of “hopeless” that opens my brain up to appreciating every little tiny mundane detail that comes my way. Appreciating the most ridiculous courtesies or looks or pattern of raindrops or comment or anything at all. So tonight, I will sit on my crag and watch the weather.