St. Lucia Daydreaming

A Walk Through The Past

It’s like the “perfect” beach. A Quiet lagoon with actual sand on the beach, verdant greenery and beach chairs with little Tiki huts covering them. I have no idea where I am but I am obviously looking out from a shelter of some sort. It’s funny because it has all the natural things there and signs that there are obviously other amenities available so you aren’t inconvenienced by having to crap in the woods.

What I want to know is…these pictures feel like dreams…like, ooh, yeah, I want that – yet, I was there. I don’t remember feeling that way when I was there. I remember being present and enjoying everything around me, so much so, that I barely even wrote in my journal, or at least I can’t seem to find those journals, if I did.

There is a timeless quality to the picture. If I lived here…would I be bored or would I be self absorbed all the time? One day you wake up and go…Wow! I live in paradise and time slides by you…fresh fruit, nice strong coffee…no Starbucks (Screech…crash…what? What? What the hell…no Starbucks! Yup, that’s right, really – no Starbucks).

Day after day goes by, and you sit on the beach, on the veranda with your notebook and you are in a dream. The entire world is a dream until you realize that you are alone. Oh, sure there’s Pepe the old pool guy (no young hot thing) and there is a handful of native islanders that grew up on the island. There is a handful of tourists that occasionally show up but mostly it is just you and you realize that it has been awhile since you touched someone…really, really touched someone…that someone has held you in their arms…that goodness!

You are lonely. The mind makes so many leaps. Do you give up paradise to seek out companionship? It isn’t as if a man is going to fall out of the sky – ooops – a small plane crashes off the coast…three men fall out of the sky (We are pretty fabulous as creators, aren’t we?) And so, you create a fantasy…a fantasy of interaction, of sensuality or sexuality. It’s a dream, a fantasy…nothing has changed.

I am still enjoying my cup of coffee on my veranda…but now I have a secret little smile and my journal becomes filled with the fantasy. Three men, fighting over me, suddenly there are natives from the other side of the island running amok on my property to help pull their plane out of the water. Women follow, oh nice, a bit of intrigue…mystery…jealousy, perhaps? Are they wealthy men? Drug dealers? Television crews arrive – this is world news – three men crashing in the islands…I am somehow outside of it, watching, yet the entire center of it all. How can I not be when none of it is real and I am just making it up?

At some point though…at some point…at the end of the story…I want to look up from my notepad and realize that your eyes have been watching me for hours. I might have wondered how my coffee cup kept getting refilled and that there always seemed to be a fresh piece of fruit…and it’s a balcony of an apartment in a city where the cars are honking and the sun is setting and I look into your eyes and somehow I know that while I was gone, on this verdant beach on my secluded island with no partner which I created, both the island and beautiful dreamscape…that you were watching me…protecting me…going with me as I created.

And, I was gone for hours in my mind…and you smile at me because you know I was gone and that this is the thing that makes me the happiest. I was off in a world of my own creation and you were here with me the whole time. It is twofold. I made this world and you were here watching me make it. And, my joy was the creation of it and your joy was watching me get totally lost while I made it. I can’t even fathom how you are entertained by watching me do this…it is like you could watch me for hours. You just did.

You create a world too and then you live in it…The End. I create world after world after world…and the story never really ends, it just sort of continues on without my focused awareness. I set this storyline up…someone else steps in and finishes it. I am busy. I am waiting for the next beautiful story to hit me so I can get lost in that one too.

Somewhere, there is always a version of me with a notepad…writing the story…watching the story. Somewhere else there is another me that has forgotten that I am telling a story. Somewhere there is a version of me that forgets you are always here with me and watching. I forget what your beautiful face looks like, how your eyes draw me in. I forget that the first time I saw your eyes was the first time I fell into another world and got lost in the fantasy. I forget that your eyes are the reason that I fell into the dream to begin with.

Somewhere there is a version of me that is falling into your eyes right now; that is in a continual process of falling into your world over and over, because in that version of this me, I am stuck in the love so all I feel is the continuation of the fall. (Like my IPOD is stuck on replay.) I love that version of me – I love the fall. To me, this place where our eyes meet is the only space that is real. It is the space where all other illusion erupts from. The first time I was able to see myself in your eyes, was the first time we were able to be lost from each other, lost to each other…it is the first time I was ever able to feel myself.

I love where this picture has taken me. Maybe I should paste a new picture daily and write a new story of what the picture evokes? I love that story. Does there need to be a real point to my life or can it be that the point is simply that it is my life? I wander in and out of it as needed and I make things here. That partner – my eyes that I want to fall in to…they are my eyes. And as suddenly as I have fallen into them I realize that I have yet another world to sort through, to experience, to enjoy, and sometimes to feel the suffering and anger…whatever it happens to be. My eyes only see, then it becomes and I forget that I was just seeing because now I am feeling, until I cannot feel any more and then I have to find a new pair of eyes to fall in to so I can feel again.

I am always writing a romance and the romance is always with myself.

I wish that picture had evoked as much response within me while I was actually there. It is funny how the experience of total immersion has a tendency to take you out of the observer mode and you miss a lot of the beauty that is around you. You miss seeing it, but you feel more. And then you remove yourself, and you can now see it but you can no longer feel it anymore. Isn’t there a space between where we can see and feel at the same time? There almost has to be or I wouldn’t have created the question. The real question is…is this something I must create for myself?

I could have been anything I wanted to be and all I ever wanted to be was your eyes, so you could see me.

It speaks to me of original separation and the fall back into the self at the same time. I am me falling into you, falling into me.

We are in love with our creations…and from your eyes, I can love your creation as well…whatever that happens to be.

Beaches

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