Fall New Autumn Moon
A strange weather time. A storm system and winds blowing in from the east. Our weather systems almost always come from the west, following the planet’s rotation and the jet stream, but this raggedy storm system got stuck over Wisconsin and has begun to retrograde, head back west.
The quiet of night. A healing time, the darkness. A moment when the cares of the day can slide away and the still, small voice can speak. The body can collect itself, relax, replenish.
Think of sleep. Almost a third of our lives, maybe 25 years, think of that, 25 years asleep. We are all, in this sense, Rip Van Winkle, unaware as the world changes around us.
In the sleep time our minds create the worlds we inhabit, pluck scenes from stored memories, movie clips, fears and joys, wishes and needs. Vivid life, times of ecstasy and insight flow through our brains, a stream of cobbled together life, chunks of invention. We are each novelists while we sleep, drafting narratives with characters about whom we care deeply.
Here’s the tricky part. If I understand modern neurology, we do the same thing when we’re awake. Our minds take sensory data and create worlds. Narratives form so we can keep the world we create coherent, so we can remember the plot of our lives.
There are parts here that elude me, standing just outside my peripheral understanding. Who is that watches the movie? Who is the narrator? Where is the narrator? Is he a reliable or an unreliable voice? Can we count on this movie? By that I mean does it conform to what we, at least in a common sense way, take as real. True. Out there.