I sound like I'm on drugs but I'm not.

HEy Happy Birthday to Jake Clement, the man who baptised my babies in beer! We went out last night to wish him a good 26th year, and it was a truly pleasant evening of good friends around a big table having good conversation. I felt like I'd arrived, and with the people I love dearly. Is it tragic or wonderful that my social life has lately felt like highschool--the good old days. Perhaps it's no good that I live in the same place, and one could say it's profoundly stagnant that I am close to the same people. But I feel a change in my relationship with this place and these people, and it doesn't feel stagnant at all. It really doesn't feel like highschool at all. It feels, to me, as if I have left and returned. As if we have all gone out and restructured our lives, and returned with a calm confidance and knowledge of the way of things. What's familiar about my attitudes, I think, is simply that I have the ease I used to. And, perhaps, I am allowed, finally, to build something new and strange in some far away land. Or at least finish this movie I'm making.

I think that must be a part of it. There's a lightness when one keeps up with the moving spotlight of what we "should be doing". Like those levels in Mario games that scroll slowly along, and it's up to Mario to keep up, or be pushed, lo, into the pits, where all of our fears and goombas await. The stress only comes from the possibility that you won't be ready to move on when the game forces you to. As long as you can keep up, it's easy. It's fun. Unlike in Mario, however, is the very present possibility that a great many amazing things can be accomplished. Rather than just getting to the pre-determined end, we watch as the level around us changes. We shape reality as we interact with it.

I woke up from a very bizarre dream, long before my alarm went off. I remembered relatively little, and as I tried to focus on more, I began reflecting, also, on the general state of things. Of last night, of my friends, and all of our lives. Of the throughlines in a lot of my dreams. Of the distinct possibility that God is pressing His face up to the glass that seperates the True Universe from our little fishbowl lives, and He's mouthing something to me, but the distortion is too great, and I can only vaguely understand. Anyway, I think it's a kind thing He's saying, and it's nice that I'm even worth the attempt.

More on this in time.