My unconscious mind decided that I needed a "pandemi-ccupation" dream. Two sieges converged on a neutral setting: Cass County Michigan. Dreams happen in present-tense:
My room at the Canary Hotel in Amman had two beds: one to be sick in, another from which to start this blog. Now, I fight another unidentified foe in my own, solitary bed but I'm lacking the red-hot hubris I used to beat a tropical disease.
Continuing my reflections on Zenkai, I remember the Arabic word "Sumud" and the prickly-pear cactus (whose Arabic name is also a word for patience). As I write, I return to the blog's beginning and title, "Reverse Exiled", to reflect on the long road which ultimately led to the strength and peace needed to move forward. In between, a brief and precious "apricot season" came into my life and was lost.
I found apropos [meanings] like "full recovery of health" and "full throttle". I will not pretend to speak Japanese. Really, I absorbed Zenkai's essentials from "Dragonball Z" dubs [as a teenager; silly, right?]. Zenkai is among the themes that continue to make the Dragon Ball franchise appealing and its imagery saturates how the word is understood. [I focus on the idea of recovery transforming into empowerment].
An octopus's spatial reasoning abilities are believed to be spread throughout their arms, so that each arm is contributing to its understanding of the environment. 'Mind' is never only in the head, for anyone, but when an octopus uses its tentacles to sense, manipulate, and solve problems it makes embodied cognition exquisitely visible! The octopus helped me realize that separate parts can coexist if they are integrated. I imagine that some people are more like sea-snakes: singular, teeth-forward and fluke behind. I am not so streamlined but my self is still unified without being as unitary. All of the many "voices" are the arms I use to orient in life, yet I am not eight+ different things... I am one with many branches. As Whitman wrote, "I contain multitudes".
...in the second part of my dream, I am working as a lawn-technician. It's already Autumn in Michigan (not Maryland) when I arrive to do a work-order on a property near a state park. The forest is dominated by deep greens but rogue tree-limbs have changed colors. I sense a lake beyond the woodlands abutting the property. A well-worn trail is visible, dammed by fallen-branches full of brick-red leaves. I want to clear the dead-fall along the trail and follow it to the shore...
I started writing yet another reflective essay about how I'm not writing the way I wish I were writing. I decided a free verse poem would be more compact -- thus, this column of thought.