Posted by: normanlgreen | August 3, 2011

You’re around here, somewhere

“A net is a collection of holes, tied together with string”  Alan Watts, quoting someone I cannot recall.

On some mornings the holes are that much bigger, or the string is none too secure, and the dream stuff gets dissipated, lost in the growing morning crowd of thought.  Some days my dreams recollect in the afternoon, drawn in by someone or something I will stumble across.  The dream comes back to cushion a blow or to add meaning or to ensure the I know that I am not necessarily privy to meaning in all situations.  When they do come back, they get held close and appreciated at little more, at least for that moment — like the child who runs away only so that he will be missed.


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