The view this morning.

I wake up with messages sometimes, notes to myself.  They seem terribly profound in the moment and even urgent somehow.  Later the fog lifts.  

Last night's dream involved a remote rural woods, arduous travel on back roads, sitting vigil for someone famous and practically everyone I know was there.  No, I have no idea what it is supposed to mean.  I'm even at a loss for a reference to 1904, sorry, and yes of course I could pull something out of Ulysses, but (Agenbite of Inwit, p. 16, l. 7-8) not feeling it right now, so it'd be like cheating and I'd end up feeling remorseful.

The message has something to do with the creative dilemma, I think.  How an artist has to find a way to pay the bills while he makes art (yes, it's nice to think that making art will pay the bills, but it doesn't always, trust me).  Not just artists either, but anyone who wants to do something more with the day than survive it.   It's about balancing dreams and practicalities.  Aspiring to a higher level of consciousness while dealing with the mundane demands of the physical plane.

But it's a personal call.  Unbearable hardship for you, for instance, might mean not having a driver and a cook.  Or flying commercial.

Meanwhile the crows are going crazy. 



I don't know.  Sometimes all I can do is report.  I'm just the messenger.