Wandering The Dream Streets Again

This is what it looks like at one end of my front porch in Lloyd, Florida today and I am, for the first time in over a week, alone. It is raining gently here and coolish and the chickens are pecking out in the rain and going about their chicken business and I had dreams like movies last night, one of them a sort of video-game science fiction thing where the only way to escape the evil was to make moves and figure out what my powers were and how to access them. It was frightening as hell and I had to protect Lis and I kept waking up and then falling back asleep and falling right into the dream again until I finally got up for awhile to shake it out of my mind.

Here is the end of the balcony at Casa Miranda where Lis and I stayed in Cuba.

You can see why I felt a bit at home on that tiny balcony overlooking the narrow street between the old beautiful buildings, now cut up for housing into tiny, hot apartments with fans mounted on the walls. So much life spent on those tiny balconies where people came out to try and catch a breeze, to hang laundry, 

to keep some plants to provide a bit of green in that huge city, to simply observe what is going on and there was always, always something going on at every moment of the hottest hour of the day or the coolest hour of the night. 

But wait. Let me go back. 

And here's the thing- where is the beginning? It's so much like thinking of Cuba itself where I kept finding myself asking, "But what came before this? How did this lead to this? Where will it go? What does this mean? How is this possible? Why is the answer to this question different each time I ask it of another person?"

But. My beginning in this journey of course came from that phone call that Lis made me two weeks ago where she said, "There's a spot opening up. Can you come?"

And of course I dithered and pondered but there was really no time for that and finally it hit me with the force of a ton of bricks that the only answer to that question was yes because I am a human being and as such, am filled with perhaps even more curiosity than I am of trepidation and I would never get this opportunity again and the next thing I knew I was talking to a man named Yosi McIntire on the phone with his wife in the background (and they were in Sicily!) and I was finding documents online to fill out and print and panicking and yet, determined. 

Yosi and his wife of forty-two years, Soledad Pagliuca, are absolutely some of the most amazing people I've ever met. They travel the world and they lead groups to some of the places they love. They speak several languages and as I ask myself another question- WHY AM I SO GLAD I WENT ON THIS TRIP?- one of the first answers to spring to my mind is that I got to meet and spent time with Yosi and Sole. 

Lis and I were the last to get to Miami and got to the hotel where we were all staying right after the initial meet-up had begun in the lobby. 

"You're buying the first mojitos!" said Soledad and I came to learn that whenever anyone was late, they were threatened with having to buy mojitos for all.

And then I noticed that Sole had...wait for it...a diamond in one of her front teeth.

I swooned.

Over the days we were with them, my respect for them and delight in their company only increased. 

Here they are, dancing at a restaurant where music was being played.

They had so many friends in Cuba. The first we met was our bus driver whom we called Sobe because when he wasn't wearing his official bus driver suit, he dressed like a guy from South Beach and he, like all of the men we met through them, is in love with Sole. They would flirt outrageously and Sole would curse in Spanish, rolling her r's, making him laugh. They not only kept up with the entire group, energy-wise, but when we'd all get back on the bus at one or two in the morning, one of them would crack a bottle of Havana Club rum and pass it around, continuing the merriment, the joy, the celebration of each evening. 

And then, when I'd get up in the morning and go out to the little balcony, there would be Sole, standing at her balcony across the way.

"Good morning, Mary!" she'd call. "Have you and Lis had breakfast yet?"

And so the day would begin and soon we'd all meet up again and get on the bus or go on a walking tour, always stopping for the best lunches. 

But wait. Again. I've gone off my path. I am wandering around like the day Lis and Jim Quine and I stopped to talk to an old friend of Jim's when we were on our walking tour and lost the group and spent forty-five minutes trying to find the Street of Barbers where we knew our people were eating lunch somewhere. 

Here is the friend.

I mean- wouldn't you stop? How could you not stop? They are old friends and he has taken her photo many times and so there was much talk and laughter and hugs and hugs and hugs. 

And then we were lost except that we knew we were going to the Street of Barbers and so we went from taxi driver to police officer to ordinary citizen asking, "Por favor, donde esta la Calle de Barberos?"

And no one knew but finally someone did and there was the street and there were our people, settled in to a beautiful little restaurant, just ordering drinks, and everyone was glad to see us but no one was worried although everyone was a bit worried about one of us whom no one had seen since the hotel where they sold cigars. We found him though, when we delivered the people back to the hotel where the non-musicians were staying. He was sitting at the bar, having a beer and again, all was well, and again, I have gotten so far off my train of thought that I'm going to have to take a break here, do a few domestic chores, enjoy this rain and solitude, collect myself and begin again soon.

I think I am not going to worry so much about the continuity of this story. Fuck continuity. Continuity may well be a human construct as everything is happening at the same time over and over again and will be and has been and it may all be a dream anyway. 

Thank you for coming along down these wandering paths with me, for letting me tell you about this particular dream which is a dream of Cuba that I had. Truly, it might as well have been a dream with all of the vivid images of dreams and the lack of logic of dreams and the eternal questions of dreams which are...what did that mean and where did that come from?

Quien sabe?

Not me. 

See you in a little while. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Gone (Why Am I Still Here?)

I can't sleep for twelve hours if you hold a gun to my head. I just can't do it.
But I sure can sleep for eight, which I did, and it was delightful and it's a gorgeous Saturday morning here in Lloyd, Florida, and the rain we got yesterday is making everything sparkle in the sunlight as if tiny, busy fairies had hung crystal prisms from every branch and leaf and blade of grass.

Peaceful. So very, very peaceful.

And here I am with absolutely no obligations before me and I can do ANYTHING with this fine day. Anything I want.
And what is it that I want to do?
I have no idea.

Things to consider doing today:
Being overall dirt lady and working in the garden.
Being overall dirt lady and working in the house.
Being dress-lady and going shopping for more dresses. Isn't it time for the 75% Off racks to be appearing at Dilliards? 75% is my magic number.
Being lady-like lady and getting a mani/pedi.
Being crazy, wild lady and going to a movie.
Being slothful lady and lying on the couch and watching Bravo TV all day.

Those are a few ideas. Here's another- I somehow figure out how to fly to Cozumel. Now wouldn't that just shake up the world? Haha! I'm sure that if I wanted to whip out the credit card (which we never use but there it is, right there, in my wallet!) I could do it. I could get on a plane to somewhere that would take me to somewhere that would take me to Cozumel. I could get off the plane and the soft, warm air would bathe me and I could heft my carry-on because that's all I'd bother to take, and get a taxi to town and find a room overlooking the water and the sidewalks and the smell of it would hit me like a motherly bosom and I could saunter, walk, hip-roll down that freakingly beautiful waterfront sidewalk with the seawall

 and find a table, "Hola, hola, si, maragarita, por favor, pequeno," and there would be chips, warm from the fryer and pico de gallo, the beak of the rooster, yes, yes! Bring it all on and I could watch the people walking by and there would be that water which just looking upon aligns my neurons into their proper order

and there would be bougainvillea

and everywhere I looked, Senor y Senora Iguana

and I could offer myself up to that Hot Mama Virgin of Guadalupe

who is everywhere, EVERYWHERE

and I could say, "Look, Mama, I've done my job and take me in your arms and let's boogie dance stroll joywalk together for awhile, you just watch out for me," and she would and I would do like that and I would offer myself up to Ixchel, too, because she's the Mama of the Mama, there before the Catholics got there, powerful and cruel and beautiful and bountiful all in one, just like a real woman, only a goddess.

If anyone missed me, they'd have to find me. 

Shit. I've got myself in tears now. 

I have a very strong feeling that no matter what it is that I do with this day that there is going to be part of me which is not here at all, not in Lloyd or Tallahassee or Florida or the United States of America but on a very small island off the Yucatan peninsula and my feet know the sidewalks and my heart knows the swallows as they dip and fly and soar and dip again and the jungle is on one side of me, the blue/green/purple/indigo/violet water on the other.

I better eat a peach. They're going to go bad. I better start some laundry. This day is getting away from me. I better come back to earth, slam, back into my body right here, damn, but I could, I could, I could fly away. I won't. Not today. But dammit, some day. Maybe. I may be old but there is a place which calls me like a lover and a mother and you can get there from here and it's always inside me anyway. 

Happy Saturday, y'all.

Love...Senora Luna

What is WRONG with me today?
And nothing, nothing is the answer. I am fine. FINE I TELL YOU!

So why did reading this in an online newsletter I get from Cozumel make me cry?

How I came to Call Cozumel Home: A Series by Island Residents

 by Kathy Watts, creator of the Trashy Little Group
I have a theory that lovers of Cozumel can instantly recall the exact dates of their first visit. My love affair with the island began January 10 - 17, 1990 - and after my first visit my life was never the same. I went back to Minnesota, and within 6 months I had changed my job, my living situation, and my perspective of the future. As a newly minted airline employee I was fortunate to visit the island often, and my daughter and family enjoyed numerous vacations away from the dark cold Minnesota winters. You know the part in The Wizard of Oz where the film goes from Black and White to vibrant Color? For me, touching down in Cozumel is a lot like that. While the lakes and pinewoods of my youth will always be with me, the natural beauty of the island and her people captivates me as much today as it did 22 years ago.
In 1996 I was married to a relocated Texan and we happily settled into an adorable little apartment. Seven years passed in the blink of an eye. After many months of searching we found a house to buy thanks to my sister who purchased a nice house in the Independencia neighborhood. On our way to take a tour of her place, we passed a cute little place with a beat up “Se Vende” sign tacked up in the corner. That was over 10 years ago. Even though the hubby “va-moosed” a while back, I have thoroughly enjoyed carving out my vision of domestic paradise. For me, a walk on a deserted beach, or a cup of coffee in my garden can be a religious experience. A trip to the phone company can result in lifelong friendships. Only 2 doors down from my big sis, and surrounded on all sides by sweet families, life in Cozumel has proven safe, exciting, happy, and active. My friends and I honor nearly all traditions, foreign and d omestic. We welcome our departed on the Day of the Dead, smile across Thanksgiving tables, decorate our houses with all manner of Christmas glitz, find the baby in the Rosca, and blow the doors off the place for Carnaval.  Underneath it all beats a philanthropic heart and community spirit unparalleled in its generosity.  When called upon, Cozumeleños readily show up to support a good cause, help someone in need, offer congratulations, or a consoling embrace.
No matter where one choses to hang a hat, I firmly believe that your life, your happiness, and your regrets are all exactly what you make them. I have found good company in this special place, where the amazing beauty found in nature go hand in hand with the spirit of her citizenry. The beaches, waters, nature preserves, restaurants, music, art, culture, and social whirl ensure that life in Cozumel need never be dull.  I remain humbly captivated by it all.
Kathy Watts and her cohorts in crime created The Trashy Little Groupto help remove some of the trash on Cozumel’s beaches. Already this year, the group has removed over 467 bags of garbage, and increased awareness for recycling and environmental causes here on Cozumel. Once a month, the group gathers together to clean a selected area. Not only is it a worthy cause and a fun event, but it’s also a great chance to win prizes donated by very generous local sponsers. To find out more, check out their facebook page.




First Roseland, now Cozumel.
And I'm not unhappy here. I love it here.

You know what I think it is?
I think it is simply the knowledge that life is passing swiftly and that there are dreams and there are desires which I have had that are never going to be fulfilled.

It's all such a cliche.

I turned eighteen in Europe and I was certain that I would be back within a year or two to explore further. Have I ever returned? No.
I have not had a book published, I have never been to Greece. Hell, I've never had a career!
And the things I have done with my life have been, in some ways, far more incredible than any of those things could have been. I am not talking regrets here. I chose to live my life on my own terms and I have and I do but...

You know.

I know you know.

Perhaps it is nothing more than the knowledge that I am most likely not going to leave my mark here. I am never going to explore the depths of the oceans and discover a new form of sealife, unknown up until the moment I saw it. I am never going to cure a disease. I am never going to have a rose named after me or a camellia or a blueberry. I am never going to be Miss America or Janis Joplin or Mother Theresa. I am never going to dance naked in a fountain in Paris or inspire a song or start a movement or create a philosophy or hell, even plant a successful garden if I keep going the way I am going.

Sigh.

And yet, it doesn't matter. Not one bit. I have passed on my genetic material and I know I am making a difference in my grandchildren's lives. I know that.

But perhaps it's not even any of that. Perhaps it's just the fact that when we are young, we think that we can do anything. We can throw it all away and run away with someone we love. We can cash it all in and travel across the world and settle in a village in Mexico. We can become Matt.




Yeah. I think this whole thing started when I saw that video over at Mel's place, Luna Secrets 
yesterday.

When I watched that, I saw the face of holy possibility. Dancing? All over the world? What a crazy and wonderful idea. I'd seen other videos of Matt dancing  and maybe even posted some here. But this one got me to the point where I was weeping. Not crying. Weeping.

I'll never, ever do anything that crazy and wonderful and beautiful.

But you know- maybe that's not me. Well, of course it's not me or I would have done it.

And I have done what I have done. Raised my babies, been in love for a long time, found and moved into my dream house, grew some gardens, planted some trees, written some (unpublished) books, done what I could with the limitations I myself have set.

I have tread the line of safe and crazy. I am not sure that's for the best but for me, perhaps it has been.

All right. Enough. Blah, blah, blah.

I'm going to go make supper again. Please watch that video. It is so beautiful.

And I could still get to Greece. I could. I could even dance naked in a fountain in Paris if I really wanted to badly enough. I can still have dreams even though time is running out to fulfill them. And as the time gets smaller, so do the dreams.

Believe me.

Love...Ms. Moon

Sun-Fever

It is supposed to get down (get down, y'all!) to 67 degrees tonight.
I told you that fall was approaching.

This heat.

I am blaming everything on it.
This...whatever I have.
A bug. My gallbladder. One or more of four or five major organs or body-systems having cancer.
You know.
Or, it's none of that. It's the fucking heat. Which has made me vulnerable to whatever it is that is fucking me up.

I think it could be an inflamed gall bladder. Seriously. I have been eating like shit.

So tonight I made (and it is proof that I feel better in that I cooked anything) brown and wild rice and chicken with vegetables, and salad and oat bran muffins.

It's almost done and Mr. Moon is still in my bathroom which is in a state of chaos you cannot believe, working on the plumbing.

According to the Facebook, a film that I was in is going to be shown at Graumen's Chinese Theater. This is so far away from my definition of reality that I can't even begin to process that fact.

Maybe I have an ulcer.

Maybe it's the heat.

Oh summer, thou hast taken its toll.

I'll go shut up the chickens and then it will be time for supper.

God. I can't wait to go to bed. I wonder if I'll dream of Brad Pitt again tonight, staying with me and my family to hide out from the media.

I hope not. It was so stressful, trying to keep people from knowing he was in my house. Poor man.
But I would never tell. I am THAT sort of friend.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Dreams

Celebrities I have dreamed of in the last few days:

Sarah Jessica Parker
Mickey Rourke
Susan Sarandon
Billy Graham

I had to save the world against Mickey Rourke (it was a movie and I was in it) but Billy Graham was the creepiest one.
(That hair, dear god, that hair! Somehow it was worse than Mickey's. Plus? He wanted to hug me.)

All Righty Then!

Do you ever wake up from dream and go, "What the fucking fuck!"?

Yeah. Me too.

Last night in Dream World I was at some sex resort. How did I know it was a sex resort? Those old ladies wearing girdles in the lobby was a major clue. Also the hot dude playing the accordion in the...accordion-playing room?
And that giant swinging bed with curtained partitions. Yeah, that was another indication.

Now what my children and grandson were doing there is beyond me. And why I was shopping for used clothing and bought a tacky green plastic purse for five bucks is another mystery.

Mr. Moon was there too. He kept chatting up other people and ignoring me.

HONEY! I'm right over here- wearing used clothing and carrying a tacky green plastic purse! Why are you ignoring me?

So yeah. I'm in a great mood this morning.

Dreams of Riches That I Already Own

Michelle wrote about a dream this morning and I've been having the strangest dreams myself.
I am pretty sure that part of this comes from my antidepressants, which is scary when you think about it. That little pill fucks with my brain in ways which are both bad and good but it is fucking with it. Which is the point, I suppose.

But lately I've been having a version of the same dream over and over and over. Almost every night. And in it, I am living in a house which is very old, like this one, yet much bigger. I don't know much about the half we live in- I suppose it's just like any house you live in with a kitchen and furniture and so forth. But there's a complete other half and there are stairs that go up to other floors and this part of the house has not been touched for years. I have been in it but I have not explored it all and I keep thinking I want to so badly.

This half of the dream house remains, as I said, untouched, with furniture and beds and bed linens and all of the belongings of whoever lived in that part when it was abandoned. And I know that since I own the house, these things are mine to use as I want. The rooms are mine to use as I want. But something always stops me from really getting in there and checking things out- usually, my duties as a hostess, the more immediate needs of the people in my house. I know there is jewelry in those rooms and fine curtains and linens and fixtures and gleaming wood and lamps and deep, red rugs and many, many beautiful things and I believe, in my dream, that I know that this part of the house was abandoned suddenly with good reason and has been considered haunted- why else would it remain as it was? Unopened, unused, left completely as it was. But it's not spider-webbed or dirty or dusty. It looks fresh with lots of light coming in through the big windows. And there are so many rooms and one of them, the last room, somehow, perhaps the one highest up, is like a giant sun room.
And I have seen these rooms, or some of them, but have not taken/had the time to really go and touch, to see what all is there.

And usually, in these dreams, there are many, many people in my home and I know I should open those rooms and use them, let people stay in them, find things I could use myself. I know there are treasures there. Beautiful, sparkling treasures.

So- like Michelle- I am asking. What does this mean?

I have theories and my favorite is that although my life is so rich as it is, there are within me, more treasures which, if I just learned to access them, figured out how to get past whatever is stopping me from getting to them, I could use for a richer, happier life. I don't know whether these treasures are talents or spiritual insights or what- but I feel that even as the things in my dreaming house are mine to use if I will but use them, these things are too. Whatever they are. And however it is that I can get to them.
And that they will benefit the ones I love, the ones I already have in my home, my heart.

I don't know. But I can't help but think that if one has a dream over and over, it is carrying a message and that one needs to pay attention. I am not stressing out over this- just as in my dream where I do not feel an immediate compulsion to go explore what it is I have OR do I have any sort of fear when I think of doing it. It is more of an excited calmness. I enjoy these dreams. I look forward to them.
The treasures are there. They are mine.
But how do I get the time, how do I find the key? Where does that stairway lead? Why were the treasures abandoned? Why is it now time to explore them?

What do you think? I'd like to know if you have any ideas from your perspective. This is utterly and completely a selfish post and I admit that.
But I know that some of you are very wise in the ways of dreams and minds and life and treasures and duties and daring.
Which is why I love you.

Ms. Moon

The Land Of The Mind, Unchained By Sleep

I did not get up until almost ten this morning which means that my maternal grandfather is in heaven, weeping over my sloth and probably Jesus, too.

But enough about reality.

I want to talk about my dream which I'm sure was punishment for sleeping too late because it was one of those dreams where you wake up with wet eyelashes and realize you've been crying for hours and this is not what they refer to when they refer to a wet dream but some of us, that's what we get. Tears not passion.

Oh well. There was plenty of passion. Just not the sexy type although in this dream, everyone was pregnant. I was pregnant, a woman I've known forever was pregnant. My mother was pregnant. And a huge flood came and we had to flee (to the island, of course, where all would be safe in a flood, right?) and I was living there with many family members and I became a bitch and told the woman I've known forever something that I don't remember but it contained curse words and she was hurt.

And we were all traveling in Mexico for awhile and that was horrible because my beautiful Cozumel had changed and was no longer beautiful but filled with ugly things and then I was back in the tiny trailer I was living in with all the family members and suddenly, I found out that my house, my house that I love and which I had believed to be swept away, was fine.

Fine.

I came back and yes, it was whole and sturdy. I laid on the wooden floor and wept with the betrayal of all those who had lied to me and then Mr. Moon's parents showed up and I was so glad to see them but then I knew they were going to have to die again and I wept some more over that knowledge.

And Lynn was there and she was wearing purple.
Or possibly blue.

What IS it with these dreams lately? Too many mother images and too much traveling and too much weeping and now floods, too?
And lying and betrayal and sorrow and more weeping. And people whom I love but who are dead?

Last night we went to Havana to hear Lon and Lis play and they did almost an entire set of Lis's songs and perhaps they were the key to the land of this dream. Not that her songs are nightmarish in any way, but they are dreamlike and they float through my ears and into my heart, her voice rising like an angel's and now that I think about it, when I went to sleep last night, I had the image of an angel at my breast, and I could feel the soft strength of its wings, folded as the angel rested there in my embrace.

And now it is daytime, really and truly, and Mr. Moon is shoveling dirt out of the back of his truck and I should get out and pick up branches and sticks which a real wind blew down and get my feet into the dirt of this place and ground myself, literally.
Because the dream is still here and I am not quite sure if I am there, in that land where all the mothers were full of babies or here, where the babies are raised and my house, my beautiful house, needs my attention and really, there is no reason to weep.

Not for me, anyway.

None at all.

The Dreaming Life in Late July

Sitting in my office in the afternoon heat
A fan blows air my way
It's noisy, but can't compete
With the chirring of the crickets outside
Trying to stir up the storm they think is coming.
The day before my birthday
It's Sue's birthday today,
That bucktoothed girl, gone to Heaven.
I work beneath a small statue of the Virgin
Some of Sue's ashes wrapped up and tucked away
In the little votive below it.
I think of her today and miss her terribly
My birthday twin
My sad friend
But I know she's fine
Where she is.
My boxer dog sleeps right in front of the fan
And has a dream that makes her growl and make
Small, strange barking noises
My other dog, disturbed, gets up and goes to
Pearl to investigate.
"She's dreaming," I tell him,
"She's okay."
I look around at all of this
This life, this dream of my own.
And suddenly, for no reason,
Here in the late afternoon heat
Of the last part of July
Under the bruised gray sky
I am too.