Okay, so I have an over-active imagination. We know this. The trouble starts when I move into another person’s brain so easily, and become confused. Maybe I think I am her, for a while. It is fine to imagine things in your own brain, but maybe not so nice when you are stuck inside another’s. After all, you can think but you cannot act. Because, of course, her brain controls her own body, and unless she allows your brain to sit in her cockpit for a while, you have no hope in this matter.
That much is elementary; so simplistic, you may say, why do I even bring this up? To share my conundrum. I’m so sorry, gentle reader, that yesterday was the first day in a long time that I did not post to this blog. I wanted to, but could not find any Internet access up in these mountains.
After an extensive search, that included several near misses and other frustrations, plus the serendipitous oddity of running into a friend from the Bay Area and her two daughters, I’m briefly online tonight. My computer is warm in my lap, wondering, no doubt, where I have been.
It’s hot here in the day and cool at night. A fresh breeze swept through the river valley this afternoon. Several rainbow trout swam into a near by pool; three dogs, including a beauty named Felicity swam back and forth, following their owners, who were snorkeling, looking down at the bigger fish in the center of the river. Two willowy nude women swimmers appeared from upstream and slowly floated down-river, out of sight. A squirrel peaked out from the trees and ran across the rocks. The sky was impossibly blue; the river swiveled between turquoise and bright green as the sun moved down the valley. Trees marched up both sides of the river, scaling ravine cliffs too steep for a mere mortal but fine for a goat.
I didn’t see any goat.
But I did hear a gentle voice reading out loud a strange short story. The reader laughed sometimes and also remarked darkly, “I don’t like where this story is going. It is scary”
I didn’t feel scared by anything today, except what I mentioned up top. Why can’t I shut off my brain? Why does it try to enter another’s head, to see what she sees, to feel what she feels? Why won’t it stay home with me?
If I came here, to this clear mountain air, seeking some answers, I haven’t found any yet. Maybe tomorrow, sitting in the sun at a café, or on a rock in a river canyon, the swift breeze again cooling over-heated flesh, I’ll hear that mysterious feminine voice reading to me again, telling me strange stories.
But I wonder: is it only my own husky male voice, delicately masquerading as sweeter female tones that I fine so soothing and so seductive? Did I imagine my own gentle reader and her secret reading to me? Will I ever return to this state again; and if so, will she be with me?
Or was it, finally, only the bright sun, instigating an illusion?
Maybe there were no dogs, not even Felicity, and no trout, no snorkelers, no willowy mermaids, no squirrel, no trees marching up ravines too steep for me to navigate there. (I’m quite certain, at least, that there was no goat.)
If it was my imagination that gave me the gift of this d, it still was a very nice dream.
Chu.
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