Dangerous Compassions


My mood fluctuates.  My belief in humanity fluctuates.  My ability to spell fluctuates fluctuates.  I wanna put an x in it, of course.

This is new growth on the palo verde tree we planted at the end of last year’s Sacred Peace Walk.  I like the red.

We’re going to get some soil.  I wanna plant a bunch of seeds.

I told Ming a long time ago, I enjoy getting a garden that was already made, seeing what’s there, adding to it and making it a new thing with a lot of the old.  That’s what life feels like, to me.

He said a lot of people like to plan a garden and make the plan real, then move on.  The creation is the part they like.

In my dreams, I find old gardens I made and forgot about.  Usually they’re doing great and I’m happy to find them.  Often they’re geometrical in ways I would never make in real life.

I was dreaming early this morning, a white guy was going to swim in a cold place.  It wasn’t for fun–there was some other purpose, symbolic or to fulfil a weird need.  To prove something? 

He handed me something in a little paper dish, with a white plastic spoon.  A bit of ice cream, maybe, lavender colored.

“Please be safe,” I told him.  I was afraid he would die in the cold water.  He tried to kiss me on the mouth, although I think he was gay, and I dodged it.

The whole dream had a feel of very dignified cosmopolitan.  Another part with this white lady everybody liked.  I resented her.  But I could see why everyone liked her.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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