Dreams. If a baby is dreaming about the time before he needed to breathe, if the dream is vivid enough, he might stop breathing, and die. Dreams are a confusing chaotic place where you can't avoid spending a third of your life. Sometimes when the politicians and everyone else has turned the entire country into a battleground, on one level it's really upsetting, and the earth is heating up and spinning and flooding and trying to shake us off, and the politicians are strutting around like peacocks and and and and ... ... ...but then sometimes it just seems like a weird dream.
When there's a bomb planted in a suitcase in the middle of a train station... and everything feels desperately wrong... the instant when the bomb is exploding is the instant between the moment that was, and the moment that is arriving.
Everything *is* desperately wrong. Socially, politically, economically, environmentally. The wrongness is so thick you could cut it with a knife. [Ed. note: Naqoyqatsi -- war life] The country is a battleground and we are become our own enemies.
But within this instant of exploding is a promise that this exploding is transitory. It can't be fixed. It's too far gone. She knows that, we all know that. But after the explosion, comes... the moment that is arriving.
For myself, I guess I will set a stake in the ground. If we're at the awful midpoint right now, then everything will be okay again by around 2024. And there's a good chance that as early as 2017, we'll be able to catch a few good, pure, unpolluted pockets of good stuff, here and there.
Death. Especially that of dogs. For me, I thought of T.'s dog F. And I thought about burying my nose in C.'s fur this past weekend, and never wanting that to end. Even though they're both quite alive and well, both T. and C. are 3000 miles away now, and I miss C. as much as I do T., which is a *lot*.
But the thing that Laurie Anderson said about death was that you shouldn't cry, but that every time you think of the dog, you should give something away, or do something kind. And that means you'll be giving things away or doing kind things more or less continuously, and that was part of the point.
Rumi's analogy of the "reed flute" comes to mind here.
I'm cold, and scared, and Laurie Anderson even talked about the cold, scared people in the tent cities, who are terrified and lonely and still doing the best they can. And all I can really do is just clutch my tattered self tightly and think "It'll be better by 2017".
In the meantime... self-improvement, being absolutely as loyal as I can to the extremely few people I *can* call friends, and reminding myself that if all of your foreign relatives are clustered in your sun room with the white piano singing terrible show tunes... sometimes dreams are like that.
She quoted at least two pieces from Life On A String. Her encore was the solo violin piece that is kind of an intermezzo in Life On A String, in between the songs about death. I was in tears. I hurt all over, and I want the tightest and longest of long tight hugs, and I miss T. and C., and P. for that matter, and A., and everyone else I've lost. And there's no Aslan to make things better. But there will be. Just... not immediately.