Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Dreams in the Key of Life

WIth the light shining longer these days, it feels as though I’ve overslept by the time I stir at 5:45am.

Already there is rising sun and chittering birds.

My head still sunk to pillow, I steep in the remnants of my dreams.  No plot or setting.  Just the image of an ankh made from the wood of a Hawthorn tree.

I leave my bed and burn the incense.  Brew the coffee.  Writing time gives way to researching Egyptology, this key of life.

Still mysterious in its meaning, the ankh is thought to encompass both the male and female and symbolize eternal life.

As the mauves of early morning transform to orange and gold, I realize that no masterpiece of words will be crafted today.  Obligations pull as the sun fills the sky.

I remind myself that the Archives are simply a recording.  Some days more mundane than others.

This morning, it’s a cryptic dream of ancient origins that will segue me into Honey Nut Cheerios and a school lunch prep.  Inside these cells of mine that walk through school fund-raisers, yoga postures and gas station fill-ups, there lives a wealth of layers.  Am I just a filter through which lifetimes and dimensions beam?

What’s more real?  Writing a check to the electric company or a dream of the key of life?

Questions that may never be answered.  Just a recording here today.  6:21am on May 19, 2011.  One mother at the computer before her son awakes.  Sitting on an island in the middle of the Pacific, drinking coffee, dreaming, and writing as if any of it matters.  Somehow, in some small way, I can’t help but believe it does.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Jewels of Wind and Sun

There’s nothing mystical happening here.

I’m waiting in bumper to bumper traffic, crawling and stopping, merging and signaling.  Patience is the only virtue in this line of cars and there is nothing to do but idle while the economy bag of organic frozen blackberries beads liquid among my groceries in the backseat.

I don’t want to wait for invitations to transcend.  With all these chores, a moment of profundity doesn’t seem to fit anywhere with Costco or gas stations or credit card bills.  What’s enlightening about being stalled out with end-of-the day traffic congestion?  Yet, I let the Chevrolet emblem that I have been staring at on the car in front of me, transform into a key attempting to unlock my perception.  Subtly, the buildings on both sides of the street come into sharper focus.  The sign for the Wahoo restaurant bears a giant Hawaiian fish-hook, waiting.  The wall of Boss Frog’s surf rental shop is adorned with a hand-painted sea goddess, beckoning.  A man in a lime green sweatshirt crosses the street on the light.  The red turn signal on the Toyota truck flashes in jeweled dimensions.

With a simple willingness, can I perceive this scene more totally?  Can I become more aware – awake – as I hold the steering wheel, inching past McDonald’s on my left?

Eventually, the bottle neck uncorks and traffic begins to flow again.  That driver’s window of mine is now fixed and I can roll it down and feel the wind.  Afternoon sun streams from behind Anahola’s majestic mountain and mingles with strands of my hair that catch the draft and swirl above the highway.  Susheela Raman has been chosen by the Cosmic DJ in the iPod shuffle.  The music features the ancient sound of tablas that tap my heart.  Harken India.  Move me to places beyond space and time.  To realms I do not understand, only feel.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

Window down, wind rushing, sun shining, Susheela singing.

Never mind that the day’s work is not quite finished and there is still a meal to make.  That the ultra-sound results weren’t what I hoped for.  That my boot-inspired fantasy of travel may not turn out the way I imagined.  Jeb will need help with homework.  My solo mothering journey shows no end in sight.  And at day’s end I will say good night to a full moon – alone – for at least the 50th time.  In the morning there will still be bills to pay.

Never mind all that.

This precious moment with sound and wind and sun is the iridescent jewel.  The inner reaches of my heart aligned with this exacting instant – this is mine.  The greatest gift.  Ever-available to be received.  Experienced.  Felt.  Lived.

I say, yes and thank you.  Dance it for as long as I am able.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Cold Feet

The new boots are right here next to me.  Kind of like the headless horseman, they stand erect, tall, but empty – waiting for feet and legs to take them for a walk.

Poised here by my writing desk, they exude the scent of leather, fresh and pristine.  What other scents will soon mingle with these boots?  The stale smell of an airplane’s interior?  The damp undergrowth of an ancient forest?  The salt and stone of a seaside village?

This is not my first pair.  The original boots I ordered arrived by mail two weeks ago and when I slipped them on, my feet were swimming.  What does it mean when the dream boots that took six years in coming are finally on your feet and they don’t fit?  They were meant to carry me through visions of grandeur.  Were my imaginings rooted in shoes too big to fill?  My heels are narrow and the wiggle room inside those boots were a set up for floppy hikes and blister city.

Alas, I conceded.  Let them go.  They had to be returned.

There is a happy ending, though.  Or, hopefully, a happy beginning.

I ordered a smaller size.

Perhaps I needed an exercise in holding out for exactly what I wanted.  Making sure I had a perfect fit – solid, secure, grounded and ready for action.  My alternate, smaller versions arrived in good time and when I tried them on, they hugged my feet in promised support.  A fine balance of good sizing with just enough room for future stretch and give.

So this morning, it’s not yet sunrise.  75 degrees and 83% humidity.  I’ve slipped my bare island feet into my boots and zipped them to my knees.  I can sit with the twittering of song birds and the random wake-up calls of roosters.  Ask these kicks, “What’s our first adventure?”

I hold an element of hesitancy, not wanting to mar their pristine state.  I know that once I walk into the world with these, I am committed.  Stepping beyond my front door to touch down on real-life soil, makes them mine.  There is no more return.

Maybe I’m not quite ready (though opportunities for wear are limited in this May, tropical clime).  Perhaps I need to keep them in.  Just slip them on at dawn and dream a bit.  Ask them where they’d like to wander.

Zipped up tight, I can imagine earthy realms where we could travel.  Safe within my mind, scenarios are left to the place where I still can edit.  Fast forward, rewind, delete.  Maybe I’m not quite ready to set foot completely on the real path – muddy, rocky, leading to the unknown.

This morning these boots feel snug and full of promise.  They’ll wait patiently for me to live the script.  Ready when I am, to set foot outside.

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