“Follow the wandering, the distraction, find out why the mind has wandered; pursue it, go into it fully. When the distraction is completely understood, then that particular distraction is gone. When another comes, pursue it also. ” ― Jiddu Krishnamurti
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Follow the leader…
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Follow the crowd…
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Follow your nose…
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Follow…me (me but not me)…
on Facebook (okay that’s called something else)…
on Twitter…
on tumblr…
on WordPress…
on Blogger…
on Pinterest…
on Instagram…
on Deviantart…
on…
on et cetera…
you name it, just Follow me…
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Follow me…
me but not me
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Where am I going?
With this?
That’s what I often ask of myself…
The answer lies (not a lie as in an untruth… or maybe it is not a not… a knot of not’s) with going with… this… whatever this is…
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This…
This whatever this is…
Is often how I feel about dreams.
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I am a vivid dreamer,
so vivid they can feel more real than reality,
RL,
reality versus dreams.
RL versus the DL.
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Follow your dreams…
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The other night I had a dream,
nothing unusual about that,
it was convoluted,
as usual,
scenes shifting,
images appearing and disappearing,
people coming and going,
are these people real or are they just versions of me,
I am never quite sure…
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Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie featured in my dream,
how annoying…
They were being annoying,
wanting my attention,
but I didn’t want to give them my attention.
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My attention belongs to me,
pay attention…
pay me for my attention,
don’t expect it for free…
When my attention is free,
it wanders,
far and away from you…
To me…
maybe.
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Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s appearance in my dreams,
could be easily explained,
I’d been out and about the day before the dream,
in the world,
the real world,
the people-populated world,
seen newspapers…
papers claiming to have news…
news about…
secret weddings…
Who cares…!…?…!?
when there is so much else going on…
in the world,
in our lives.
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Sometimes the real world is more crazy than the crazy of the dreams world.
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Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie…
their appearance in my dreams was just the dream sewing shreds and patches of my waking life into my dreaming life.
That is all… just the unconscious sorting through the dross of the conscious mind.
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But then… along the journey of my dream,
I came to a halt,
a sudden stop.
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WTF!?!
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This moment is one I’ve had in waking life quite often,
yet strangely enough in dreaming life it is quite rare,
strangely… because dreams are strange,
we expect them to be,
we accept them that way,
so something which is strange in a dream…
We rarely ask why, or stop and stare,
pausing to question what or why or who it is?
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This was a moment of – Who!?!
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A moment of trying to recall,
recognise,
a who…
I know that face,
who does it belong to…
I sort of know but why?
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What are you doing here,
in my dream…
And why are you here?
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No answers in my dream…
Just moving on,
to other things,
other dream people,
the populace populating dreams,
yet not forgetting this encounter because it was strange… for strange.
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Waking up,
recalling…
But who?
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I knew who I thought it was,
but why?
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No logical reason why,
no conscious connection…
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He’s that guy…
the one who I studied a while ago… a long, long years ago while…
the one with whose story I related… sort of… me but not me…
a rebel with a causeless cause…
maybe…
But why dream of him?
Why did he intrude in my dream?
He did intrude, his appearance paused the flow… but why?
Does it matter… who cares?
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I care.
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But why?
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I haven’t thought about him in…
so long that I can’t recall when I last consciously considered him, his life…
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Follow your distractions…
See where they lead,
maybe they are not distractions at all.
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An Upturned Soul 
I always take delight in your writing- the pacing and surprising turns.
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Thank you very much 🙂
I tend to just write the flow of my inner conversations as they are happening. I’ve stopped writing drafts of posts and just go for it. Blank page meets flow of thoughts. It always intrigues me to see where I start and end up and the journey between the two.
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“me but not me” after this, my mind went to the REM song..
And even though those lyrics are “you are not me” it still took me to that song.
“The lengths that I would go to
The distance in your eyes.
Oh no. I said too much.
I’ve said enough.”
And as I’m sure you know there’s more and they even talk about how it was just a dream.
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Losing My Religion. Love that song, beautiful deeply meaningful lyrics, and it does kind of suit the post. Great connection 🙂 The person who appeared in my dream was Krishnamurti. It was strange and made no sense. But afterwards it reminded me of his life story, which I read many years ago, of a child who was chosen by adults to represent something for them. He went along with it because he was a child and they were adults… until he became an adult, then he decided that the role they had chosen for him was not for him. And he went off and made his own way in life. Very intriguing story.
When I read his story, I related to the part of adults telling a child who they were, of others giving you a role and pushing you to become that person for them, for their ambitions, motivations and intentions. And I was inspired by his decision to break free from the imposed role, to rebel and go his own way, discover for himself who he was.
My story isn’t anything like his, and yet… we find our stories in the stories of others sometimes.
‘me but not me’ is a multi-layered phrase for me. I first adopted it as a child as a way to explain the paradox between who I am to myself and who I am to others. It became a mind-shorthand I used for certain situations, particularly those involving narcissists. They love to tell you who you are and they are at times more certain of your identity than you are (especially when you’re a child). This is who they want you to be this is who you are for them, but this is not who you are. So I’d say to myself – that’s me but not me. The saying has become more than that for me over time, it’s the Swiss army knife of sayings for me 😉
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That’s a coping mechanism I guess, yeah? Love it and I can certainly relate. Of course we have our different experiences and I wasn’t pushed into anything. In fact I wasn’t nurtured in any way to focus on any one talent. I had no direction and struggle so much with identity as a result despite the fact that what we do isn’t who we are. But it’s hard not to identify with such when raised in a culture that really does live that way.
Both parents had their occupations/professions which also came with nice important titles. My bro and sis followed suit with what they are doing with their lives.
But me? I am a wandering soul who has no idea where she belongs or what box she fits into. And in fact doesn’t want to fit into a box for God’s sake. But still wants to know who she is. I could call myself a writer I suppose. But it doesn’t feel fitting unless published.
I am intrigued by the story of Krishnamurti now and will look into reading it. Thanks.
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Maybe you were pushed – as in pushed aside. That is a subtle pushing narcissist parents do. Ask yourself why you have no direction and struggle so much with identity – was it because you were pushed to focus on the talents of the narcissists in your family, to focus on their direction and their identity. Your ego was pushed aside to make room for theirs.
That’s one of the challenges a child of narcs has to deal with – realising that it’s alright to have an ego, a desire to define our identity, to have wants and needs which are our own – and that’s it’s alright not to be certain of who you are, to wander looking, exploring, discovering. Maybe it is more than alright. Maybe not being certain of our identity is our talent, our direction.
I kind of came to the conclusion that not fitting in anywhere is where I fit in. My box is outside of the other boxes.
You write… therefore you are a writer. You press ‘publish’ when you post on your blog, so you’re a published writer. But of course that is not how ‘society’ perceives a writer, a published writer. So we conclude that we’re not a writer as ‘society’ doesn’t see us that way, so we’re not really allowed to see ourselves that way. And so what is simple becomes complicated. It becomes a ‘me but not me’ scenario.
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