I’m not quite finished reflecting on my life goals and encouraging you to do the same. In searching for something to write for today, however, I started to poke through some of the writing I have saved on my laptop. There isn’t much, as I’ve only had it since May, but there are a few streams of consciousness that are ripe for picking. One of my many goals is to continue to work on my writing, not only narrative non-fiction but also fiction of various kinds. Much like I and many my age are still finding ourselves ~*spiritually~*, I’m still trying to find my voice in writing. This website has been practice but, unfortunately, not enough. In any case, here’s a little piece I wrote about dreams (the sleeping kind, not the wish upon a star kind).
P.S. in the spirit of stream-of-consciousness, this isn’t edited. Sorry in advance, but I said I’m working on it, all right?
During a literal time of disconnect, while I volunteered without electricity and therefore an Internet connection, my dreams, for the most part, took second stage to my waking imagination. My first night, I remember waking at around 8pm from a nap before my first beach patrol. I was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place and my surroundings were pitch black. The only sounds were those of the ocean breaking on the beach some five hundred feet away. The sensory depravation created a knot of fear in my chest so strong I all but leapt out of bed to join those still awake outside, under a small but welcome pool of light from a solar powered lantern. I spoke with the resident cooks and felt myself tethered to the waking world once more.
For the most part, the beach patrols allowed my imagination the opportunity to run wild while I was awake. The patrols were relatively monotonous. My guide and I would walk from one point to another, and back, for four hours in darkness, looking for nesting leatherback turtles. As the guide spoke no English and my Spanish is lacking, these walks were largely in silence (except, of course, the ever present drone of the waves). Nights with stars were beautiful, nights with clouds threatened sudden downpours. Whatever the cloud cover, in between sidestepping driftwood and other debris, my imagination took the time to wonder what could be in the jungle to one side, or the ocean to the other. In all likelihood, the jungle contained nothing more than lizards and insects (also, the jaguar that had killed a guard dog the week before), but in my brain it could contain any number of fantastic beasts. The ocean, similarly, was a mystery. We were advised not to swim as it contained a number of bull sharks and a strong riptide. If pulled by that riptide in the dark, the waves and the dark sky would surely obscure any sound or sight of struggle. The ocean, in this case, didn’t need much help from my imagination.
Another point to this post: write down your dreams. Or anything, really. If I hadn’t written this down, I’d have forgotten it completely. So what if the writing is less than perfect?