A May Dream

I was standing on a cold floor,
in a dark and silent room,
paralyzed by my thoughts.

Suddenly,
there was a flash of light
and the sound of howling wind ringing in my ears.

I rose to my feet,
with my hands shielding my eyes from the blinding sun.

I was standing on a mountaintop.

There were three other mountains,
the one to my right stood taller than the one on which I stood.
The two on my left sat just below me.

The earth was still and quiet.

The air was not hot nor cold.

I looked down at my hands
which previously hid my eyes from the painfully bright light...
they were no longer empty.

With palms up, I held a baton.
As I rose it into the air; an unseen orchestra began to play.
The music dancing across the treetops

- a rhythmic poem, not bound by words -

it was soft, like a lullaby.

Everything was swaying in perfect unison.

There was beauty and peace.

I stood there for what could have been days,
completely mesmerized.

Then it stopped,
I was still leading the orchestra... but everything stopped.

The earth became still and quiet once more.

There was a slight movement among the trees;
I thought they would dance again,
but slowly they fell to the ground.

In the blink on an eye,
I was standing among them;
the resting trees.

I turned around to face the mountains
and one by one they began to crumble.

The bright sun, still warm on my face, began to dim.

I found a place among the trees and fell into a
deep dreamless sleep.

Love

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

from The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis

STEAL

"Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

Those are the words of Mr. Jim Jarmusch.