Only Drowning Men Could See Him

I can’t take credit for that one…it’s Leonard Cohen’s line, but I heard it this morning, while on the way to work  listening to Suzanne and it made me think…

I rather feel like drowning men can see me really well. I’m a little bit like a lighthouse that way. Or the Coast Guard. Of course, other people can see me well too. I think what I need to do is decide that I’m no longer a lifeguard.

All men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them.

Same song. This made me think about a recent post here. Men (or mankind) will continue to drown until they learn how to move with the sea.

Hmm…my intent was to post something a little less cryptic than the last post. The last one was a weird code that Technorati made me add so they could detect this blog. Finally today, a sweet friend piped up with “Ok, I’ve got to ask…what did your last post mean?”

I don’t think the above is any less cryptic, but perhaps I don’t give you enough credit?

Today was strange, and wonderful. Wonderful strange.  In fact, this entire week has felt as though I’ve been dreaming lucidly. My senses feel heightened, and the universe is pointing things out all over the place. Strange things like seeing the same man four times in various places around the city. A complete stranger, I might add, who paid no notice to the fact that our paths were continuously crossing. Strange things like a civil, lovely dog park visit with my ex-boyfriend who brought up the idea that perhaps one of us might leave the city soon and we’d need to work something out with Arthur. (I’ve had running away fantasies for the last month) Strange things like certain people calling, or texting, or emailing at precisely the exact moment I’ve thought about them, or spoken of them.

Today was wonderful strange.

I felt utterly exhausted when I woke, like I had not slept at all despite an early bed time. I couldn’t rouse myself. Once I finally rolled out of bed, I was late for work of course (there may have been another distraction or two keeping me from leaving on time). Then, once at work I had a most productive day, though I continued to feel exhausted. I ran on vapours until getting caught in a most profound TTC cluster fuck that had me in circles, but had this not happened, I would have missed a most extraordinary text message/phone call series that I’m still certain was a birthday prank. Or something. Then home, and Arthur, and a pre-rain walk. (At the time of this entry, the sky still has not opened up.) The beautiful strains of the handsome young doctor down the street sitting in a red wicker chair on his beautiful porch playing what I think was a mandolin, and smiling sweetly at me as Arthur and I passed. Then fetch, and friendly strangers, and home again to sweet neighbours in the garden and tonight there is music rehearsal. I will sing Suzanne myself, and find my own meaning in the lyrics.

Sweet red cardinal is singing me a song. The trees in the yard are full of ripe pears. It is the week of my birth, and the universe is laying flowers at my feet.

I should set some goals this week. Whisper some wishes into the wind. I feel like there is magik everywhere and something glowing and wonderful is reflected in the faces of the people I encounter.

Greater Independence
Deeper Understanding of Self
Increased Health and Strength
More Reading
More Music
Travel Opportunity
Greater Trust
More Writing
More Giving
More Family
More Art
More Cooking

There. Off you go then.

(My theory is that if I focus on all of these, that obvious, unspoken one will happen too.)

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