Dragonfly

The first time I realized the world begged me to pay attention was through a dragonfly.

At the time, I was in my early 20’s and had just broken up with my boyfriend for the second time.I didn’t deal with breakups well (on the other hand, I dealt with them the way any twenty-something would have: I whined like the world was going to end.) My friend Les (who I had met through the ex-boyfriend) told me that what I needed to do was go outside and pay attention to my surroundings.

What I noticed on my walk was dragonflies. I was surprised at how I would walk down the street, blocks away from the nearest water source, and a dragonfly would cross my path.

I asked Les what I should do about the dragonflies, and he said, “Stalk one.”

So I would go out on walks stalking dragonflies. You can imagine how this worked — I would go out walking, paying attention to everything around me, telling the people I ran into that I was chasing dragonflies — most people dealt with that surprisingly well.

I finally got to the point where I tracked a dragonfly — the type that looks like desert camo — to a flower, where I watched him flex his abdomen. I saw him, really saw him, a fierce jewel.

From that moment, I understood why I needed to look at dragonflies — because they were trying to tell me something.

What?

Pay attention.

In other words, Les gave me a nice psychological exercise that turned into something more. But he knew it would, because he was the sort of person who believed in nonstandard reality, as I like to call it. Spirits and the like.

But from that point forward, if I see dragonflies hover around me, I pay attention. Not just to the dragonfly, but what’s going on in my life. I start anticipating good things will happen even if the day is dark.

Yesterday, a dragonfly smacked me upside the head, a graceful creature with neon blue on its wings. He smacked me upside the head with a bzzzzzzz as if I needed a nudge.

Pay attention. No, for real.

And so I wait for the revelation.

Updates and Musings

A question for myself: What is more important — success (not really), recognition (maybe), or skill/talent/competence (heck yeah!) I will always choose improvement and growth, given the circumstances. And I can see many situations where success happens because of factors that have nothing to do with competence and honing one’s craft.
I’m feeling like I have to blow some cobwebs out of my brain. I don’t know if my muse is still on the job (if you’re reading this, Muse, send me a smile!) I need some fantasy, some novelty, some surprise, a little mysticism, fairy wings, talking cats, a rainbow in a dandelion. I need a charge to help put the young love in this damn book I’m working on.
I will continue writing. I’ve decided what my pdoc was addressing was my sense of perfectionism and inability to stop at some point of “good enough”*. So, although getting published is a nice to have, it’s not a measure of moderate proficiency. While I’m employed, I might have to settle for moderate proficiency, whatever it is. Or maybe not — I don’t have some of the more time-wasting habits like Netflix and excessive Facebook use, so I might have time for both.
I find out tomorrow or Tuesday about my Kindle Scout submission. I don’t think it will get adopted into the (now defunct) program. Try, try again. I’m not quite ready to throw it in the abyss of self-publishing.
Any love and support you can give will be appreciated. Even if the only people reading this are actually bots from Russia or Poland.

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* I often can only focus on one thing at a time because it has to be constantly getting better; I can’t stop at good enough. This is why “walk a half-hour daily” becomes “walk four miles a day and eight miles a day on weekends” becomes “walk the Illinois-Michigan Canal in a week”. (Note: Running isn’t part of the plan. In my case, running isn’t part of God’s plan.)

An Old Song

This song was written a long time ago about a friend with whom I had a shy, almost mystical friendship with. In real life, I wouldn’t go out with him because there was always a long line of irrational women in front of him, and he had briefly dated all of them. (He was a guitarist). But in my dreams, and occasionally in life, we had great conversations …

Turn the corner

to a street beyond a map,

walk much further

till our feet forget the path.

We have walked here

but only in our dreams,

Then we wake up,

Never knowing what it means

Turn the handle,

slide back the creaking door

while I wonder

if you’ve been here before.

Weathered iron

is rusting in its sleep

As we settle

in the silence that we keep.

(CHORUS 2x)

In the morning,

if the snow has turned to gold,

does it matter

to the secrets that we hold

1), then CHORUS 3-4x and fade