New Civilization News: DreamLight    
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picture8 Feb 2004 @ 14:00, by John Ashbaugh

Saturday morning, February seventh, Two sets of dreams.

The man behind the desk at the Art Museum in Madison is offering me a job as a maintenance man and odd job person for half the salary I am making now. I would be willing to take the job just to be around the art. That is what I am missing in my present life.
I am not around the art, and I would give a lot to get back into that world. I tell him I’m still going to school, and wonder if the job can be worked around my school schedule. He says no. His name is Mr. Spanish. He tells me to stick with the school and finish and get my Associate’s degree, and I go on my way. There is a woman with me, Linette I think, or Gail. These two are sometimes conflated together in my mind. Sisters to each other and partners to me in my world.
After me and my lady have gone our way quite a distance from the museum,
I recall that I already have an MA and an MFA in Art, and how could I have forgotten this? I turn around and am determined to walk back to the art museum to see if I can still get that job. The distance is quite long and the landscape is an amalgam of the three principal campuses of my life. Illinois, Wisconsin, and West Texas. The distance is far and the hour is late and I am not sure that I am going to be able to get back to Mr. Spanish’s office in time to see about that low paying almost insignificant job which is nevertheless surrounded and immersed within the landscapes and images from the universe of art history and the studios and hallways with all of their messy, spontaneous, unconditioned processes of creation. Closer and closer I get, and the landscape I travel through becomes more beautiful, while the time remaining shortens.
Then there is another dream in which I am teaching one of my writing classes,
and after a long writing assignment session, I give them a half hour break. I feel completely unprepared for giving them something to do or teaching them something when they return, but it doesn’t matter, for few of them do return and those that do are casual stragglers, and don’t want anything more than to know what their grade is. So they and I just desultorily waste time in the classroom.
Then the situation gets around to my giving Dale and Raoul a ride home after classes are over. These are fellow Gen Ed writing teachers. First I have to drive
to a grocery store parking lot where I look into the folder that I keep all of my students’ papers in because I have to check into something on one of them, and the folder is completely empty. Surprise! Oh, Well.! I step out of the car to take off my jacket to free up my arms and Dale and Raoul get in the back seat, so my freedom of movement while driving is better. I drive completely around the supermarket into what can only be described as a rutted country lane surrounded by tall waving grassland, and comment to Raoul that I bet I’m taking him through a part of Wisconsin he’s never seen before, the point being that even if he’s seen something like this before, this is the first time he’s been Here on this planet.
We turn back out into the city street, like a long narrow street through a small country town, and there are interruptions and obstacles along the way, like a man and some of his cohorts dressed in medieval jesters’ costumes seriously and solemnly interrupting the flow of traffic at a makeshift crosswalk. After negotiating passage, on we drive into downtown Albuquerque, although this is no downtown Albuquerque or any other city that I have ever been to. The car has become a bicycle and Dale and Raoul are still somehow on the back and I proceed along the street into an envelope of darkness. The surrounding buildings are massive and tall, like huge, towering medieval walls of castles, and the only light anywhere to be seen is from the soft edged, yellow glowing from row upon row of rectangular windows on the sides of these buildings. I am driving into darkness, not able to see anything of where I might be going, completely unable to even see the road beneath my tires, and with no idea for determining how to guide my steering if the street should make some turn, all the while traveling between these towering dark and entirely beautiful walls with their soft-edged glowing windows of light.
Finally, the dark deep fog dissipates and the landscape of tall dark buildings merges into the northerly stretches of Chicago’s Lake Shore Drive, which winds, and turns, and meanders and I just keep riding my bicycle, passengers no longer there, sensuously absorbing the mixed urban and rural landscapes extending towards the horizon on all sides and before me, having very little idea where all this is going.

Music by Donya Quick (Mid Night)

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8 Feb 2004 @ 14:24 by swan : I love the dream mind!
it is such a fertile landscape where anything can happen, entertaining, obsurd, disturbing, unpredictable....what a place.  

12 Feb 2004 @ 14:14 by Devante Galeno @ : Dicotomía del ser y el estar en la vida:
Sueña el rico en su riqueza, 
que más cuidados le ofrece; 
sueña el pobre que padece 
su miseria y su pobreza; 
sueña el que a medrar empieza,  
sueña el que afana y pretende, 
sueña el que agravia y ofende, 
y en el mundo, en conclusión, 
todos sueñan lo que son, 
aunque ninguno lo entiende. 
Yo sueño que estoy aquí 
destas prisiones cargado, 
y soñé que en otro estado 
más lisonjero me vi. 
¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí; 
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión, 
una sombra, una ficción, 
y el mayor bien es pequeño; 
que toda la vida es sueño, 
y los sueños, sueños son. 

~ "La vida es sueño", Calderón de la Barca


13 Feb 2004 @ 12:01 by swan : Thinks that happen at Mid Night...
when the veils are thin magic creeps into the room. The music is perfect for the Mid Night magic.

Here is a piece from the book I am working on, about the night...

It came to pass
that as Venus,
the Evening Star, Hesperus,
shed its gentle light above the
Uraniborg Castle
on the Island of Heaven
something stirred inside of the egg....

In the blue darkness
of this particular evening,
a greenish yellow
phosphorescent light
encircled the egg.

All at once,
a threadlike crack
appeared on it's surface.
the nest began to quicken,
and the crack widened.

In an instant,
there was a flicker of light,
a sprinkling of stardust
and a glow that filled the room
as a child,
half woman
and half swan
emerged from the egg
and stood amazed
in the center of the room.

She shook the dew from
her glistening soft skin
and the dampness from her wings
as they outstretched behind her.
This happened very slowly
as her eyes adjusted to the light,
and her body adjusted to movement.  

13 Feb 2004 @ 15:20 by koravya : Rubric's cube
Thursday night into Friday morning, February twelfth into the thirteenth. Temperatures are cold for this part of the world. I remember a gizmo called a Rubric’s Cube. It was a puzzle in colors. Each of the six sides of the cube is subdivided into nine squares of color. Nine intersecting planes traverse the three dimensions of the cube, and the objective of the puzzle is to find all nine squares of each color on each of the six sides of the cube. The finite number of possible combinations of cubical distributions of colored squares is large, and there are some interesting configurations along the path towards the objective. One might take an analytical approach towards the solution, and be surprised by intuitively coherent results along the way. What do you think happens when the objective is achieved? Would you like to sit there and stare at it forever, the perfect configuration? After so much of that, it becomes logically and intuitively necessary to recreate chaos, for the sole purpose of exploring for another path towards the objective.
The quarter is drawing to a close, down to the time of the last one or two classes for the various courses. All final projects, research papers and presentations are coming due, and I am now looking forward to prolonged sessions of critical reading. When I asked a group of my Comp One students if they had learned anything and what it might have been this quarter in this course, one reluctant but diligent student said that he learned how to set himself down and with determination apply an effort to getting something out and down. Writing is not a part of this man’s everyday life. His style is relatively clear depending on the nature of the message being delivered. Grammatical problems are not that serious but sometimes interfere. All I can do is point him in a direction to indicate the kinds of things he needs to be careful about if he wishes to clearly express his ideas, thoughts, and images. On Tuesday evening, he wrote a wonderful little two-page story about one of his childhood experiences
in the Tennessee hill country outside Knoxville, when he and some of his buddies went romping through the forest one day playing games when they came upon a moonshiner’s still, and how for sure that they had to get out of there fast, because moonshiner’s don’t like nobody knowing where they’re at.  

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Other entries in
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25 Jun 2007 @ 15:14: Your Dreams Miss You - 4
24 Apr 2007 @ 04:48: The Nine Unknown Men
17 Apr 2007 @ 15:43: The Ascended Masters
6 Aug 2006 @ 02:09: When GOD Speaks YOU write it down & share the vision!
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14 Jun 2006 @ 06:21: My Odd Little Dream
27 May 2006 @ 11:39: REUNITING WITH SELF
2 Feb 2006 @ 01:15: A Dream in Time !!
6 Jan 2006 @ 14:31: Adjacent Energy Emanations and Stray Polarities

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