My brain longs for my heart
And my heart tries to have a reason,
Tries to have a reason to breathe and do nothing special.
I had a bad dream when I fell asleep in the chair.
Dreamed I couldn’t find my mother and grandmother.
Dreamed they had gone out to a club and didn’t know
Their way home.
I tried to use the phone.
But as with all dream technology, I couldn’t find the numbers.
Fives turned into twos and seven, eight and nine
Kept changing places on the keypad.
I asked John to help but he was married
To someone else and didn’t hear me.
Grandma’s dishes were piled up by the sink and the sink was full of dirty water.
Her kitchen had become a restaurant or cafeteria.
I looked in her old fridge to find food for the people
And there were strange cakes and casseroles that just appeared out of nowhere.
I felt disoriented.
“The term “Orient” derives from the Latin word oriens meaning “east” (lit. “rising” < orior ” rise”). … To situate them in such a manner was to “orient” them in the proper direction. When something was facing the correct direction, it was said to be in the proper orientation.” (wikipedia)
Dreams get me all turned around, so I don’t know what direction I face.
I wake up lost.
But then I ask who it is that feels lost and there is an anchor in my heart that won’t let me drift too far.
Not anymore. Even being lost seems oddly familiar.
The heart longs for coherence with the brain, and the benefit of their togetherness is cumulative. When one goes off course, one feels pain
Breath is a safe harbor, a refuge for the confused. As long as one is breathing there is reason
to place hands on heart and find home.
asingingtree 