A lot has been going on in my landscape: many little things that amount to one big good.

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I learned today that my snake (bless her soul) Loves to watch my arms when I bellydance. It's her favorite thing ever. The arm undulations, the little movements of the hand--she is totally rapt. She even comes out of her little house to watch, even wakes herself from napping. She probably sees them as her two benevolent god-snakes; perhaps the ones that bring her the mice!

I don't know that she is particularly affected by it, but I figured out her true name yesterday. I was speaking bits of dialogue as I re-read Ender's Game yesterday, and I was speaking some intense words from Ender's sister when I looked up and realized the snake was staring me full in the eyes. And I realized, of course, that's her name: Valentine. For the purple heart on her brow, and for Ender's sister, the compassionate genius. I guess I've been calling her by her middle name this whole time.

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My dreams have been rich and true these past couple nights. It's a shame I remember nothing of them except that.

I know they have been rich and true because of the mind-states I have between waking and sleep. They are more fully multi-dimensional, and yet it's easier for me to comprehend them. And from those states have come ideas/messages (from me to me) about what I oughtta do, what I gotta be doing. I may or may not consciously hold on to that message, but it registers on some level; and during the day they surface at the sound of certain triggers--a question asked, a scene realized. That's how I know my mind's making good use of its rest.

I get practical advice like, "You should scan craigslist for good non-profit jobs." Or, I am reminded of grand existential visuals: such as the Smithy. Also known as the Mesopelagic Zone. I saw it as a mixture of both.

Essentially, it is the workplace of the imagination. A while ago, I did a little trance-tour of my human mind (not that my mind is so different than anyone else's, but the visuals, I'm sure, are unique to my perception). I remember distinctly my visit to this place. It seemed a couple layers down from sight-and-sound reality, though not very far removed. This whole layer was a sparkling, drifting antique gold--almost like a dark gel of the sun's heart, motes suspended in slow but definite animation. There were forms, although they were mostly half-forms, standing around, in various stages of construction. Little thought-beings worked on these forms, as a builder builds a house, or a sculptor carves a stone. Except that the material they worked with was the stuff of the place itself, coaxed by them to coalesce into something more specific. There was no time, only slow, careful, and bright creation. Here it was that real things took shape according to our thoughts and desires; it reminded me of nothing so much as a smithy or a foundry. Things completed were hauled up into the daylight with a crane or winch. It all sounds so very unromantic, but it was truly one of the most beautiful places I've been.

Beg pardon for my head. It nods and seeks sleep.

3:05 a.m. 2004-04-06�