Dreamer

Magical ideation is a wonderful thing, but often hard to explain. It can seem alienating, as you try to tell others that you get vibes from situations and imagine impossible things occurring constantly, with full knowledge that they're happening only in your mind. The best explanation I can come up with is this:

The dream never truly ends; reality just slowly seeps in. Thoughts of people, things to do, responsibilities, all sink in, the weight of them layering upon like a heavy blanket. Gradually the memories of functional reality and psychic creation begin to separate, pulling apart strand by strand. It becomes clear that one lot of images will be phased out for the next 16 hours, and that conventionality must take precedence.

It never feels pleasant, this coming back into the world. The temptation to just float back into dream space is almost too great, and yet every day the battle is fought and lost. Willingly, I might add. The realisation befalls that there is responsibility and regular upkeep and social expectation all riding upon the ability to smother the magical thoughts and just get on with things. And so, you wake up, properly.

Throughout the day you permit yourself little secret pleasure by slipping back into the dream world, only for a moment. When walking between rooms and buildings, you imagine you're staggered throughout time, a cross-section flitting from one broken frame to the next, every decision about which direction to walk fracturing time and creating an alternate you. Or when sitting in the park at lunchtime, watching the imaginary grass roots split through your shoe and feed your feet with pulses of earthen energy, reinvigorating your soul. Or during conversations with people, when you touch your forehead in concentration, then pull your finger away with a slip of paper containing your real thoughts, letting it float down gently in the middle of you both, communicating and fully connecting with another human being.

That's what each day is like. It is magical and it is wonderful. It's also a little sad that I can't share this directly with anyone, or that some (few) people have reacted with a special mixture of abject fascination and befuddlement when I begin to explain how swiping my finger through the air creates a line of flame burning open a rift in the air, such that I can reach inside and grab a torch. They don't quite get that.

Luckily, I have you, dear reader, to whom to confess all of this. It's an isolating yet enriching experience, every single time.

-J

Opening

Welcome back, me!

Following an information session about a family therapy course I intended to study next year, I've decided that I no longer want to do it. Wow, that makes for a great story.

But wait. I heard about some of the other courses being run at the institute, and one of them was in Narrative Therapy. The counselling equivalent of folktalkes. It immediately piqued my interest. As the professor spoke about his humbled views on what the course had to offer - not just techniques and phrasing, but rather an entirely new perspective on working with people - I became transfixed. His words sang to me about a foundation for therapy which was far broader than that; it could shape the way I view everything.

My friend Thomas has often talked about storytelling and its potency for change and enlightenment, and I've always agreed with him (well, for the larger part), but we've never quite connected in our views. I could detail all the differences here, but the major themes are that we just use different theories and approaches. As I see it, his focus is more on numinous, emotional experience to guide us through life, whereas mine is more bent towards meshing body and mind towards reflective adaptation in the world. Basically, inner determines outer, versus its opposite.

That's not to say I disagree at all with his views, just that I find mine pull more weight. I'm curious to see how my focusing on the narrative experiences of people's lives will shape the way I see myself. Because that's really the driving force behind studying this. What I learn about the world and people, I learn about myself.

Hence, keeping a journal for this might be a good idea. See what happens!

-J