Just sitting here practicing gnashing my teeth and developing general ill will when I caught the equinox slipping into the room. Take me to Stonehenge to catch a frosty beard chill mind melding with the rocks waiting for dawn. Starting to think that this world masquerades, a figment of my imagination, drifting willy nilly out into the hurricane green sea. Anxiety ridden work dreams plague my sleep. Billie Holiday sings "...comes a nightmare you can always stay awake.", which is barely an option. I wake up and tell myself "dream of being in the mountains with my friends", or somesuch thing, which usually works for awhile, but pretty soon it's endless checking and rechecking work crap, not really sleeping at all. Time for a Pagan equinox ritual and some good old fashioned meditation. Honor the four directions, the fecund nature of the season, the power of the longer sun, let go of winter tools, pick up vernal instruments. We've had some sunny but cool days lately, and I keep thinking of the Bradbury[?] story where the Mexican bums all sit around each morning waiting for the warmth of the sun. When the sun comes they hold out their fingernails to soak up the anti-numbness, and just cause it feels so good there in the digital extremities after a long cold night. I see myself in outer space, fingernails huge and thrust in front of me as I hurtle towards the sun, starting to catch fire. Such a simple but hard to beat pleasure, this fingernail warming indulgence. The boy knows all about it of course. He insisted on running around on the deck in 49 degree weather in his underwear the other day. It seemed crazy to me, but I took off my shirt and joined him soaking up the heat off the redwood deck. I said "Oh, the deck is warm". He gave me a knowing look and replied happily "The deck is warm".
The Ghost Dog exudes loneliness & neglect. The wife had a dream a couple years ago that Ghost Dog looked at her once sadly from the doorway to the garage, and then went to lie down and die. Those are the kind of dreams that come true. More to this story than I will write here, but those concrete workers must have been in touch, maybe more in touch than me.