Our most intimate thoughts are those we keep secret from our very selves in waking hours. They reveal themselves only when we are asleep. We think of them in clots of lucidity and visions which dissolve when we open our eyes. We try to remember the finest ones, try to link them to words; these tools of consciousness. Sometimes they seem richer than words, or un-linkable anyway. We search still. We try to catch them and bring them out into the light of day. We feel if we could we could explain a lot: of mind, consciousness, conscience, and humanity. Or at least be a better writer. We could expose the mysteries of synchronicity.

-- Anonymous, July 21, 2002

Answers

I like this, especially the part about "intimate" thought.

There are things about myself I can't find, and I do think they're stored in dreams. Last night I tried to get to them, but to no avail. I thought they would come. The moon was almost full, and the twilight was filled with portents - long shafts of sunlight dropping gold all over everything; the hummingbird that came and sat right over my head as I was admiring a particularly scraggly pear tree that managed to look absolutely regal in the evening light; the hummer's stillness - so long, so slong - and then just as I spoke your name, off it flew, due southeast...

I can say your name into the sky around me, and listen to the wind's reply, and it always feels like you're around. I've never felt anyone in the fabric of nature the way I feel you. You're in water that's flowing by my trailer at night, and in the breeze that moves the grass and new corn. You're in the North Star, and in the sun, and the cool clover under my bare feet. Everywhere I turn, if it's growing, it feels like you.

But there were no dreams last night. Strong thoughts. Erotic ones, for you're beginning to find me in places that are new for myself. I don't recall ever knowing a wanting before like I feel from you for me. Yesterday was full of thoughts of you in me.

The night was a good one - in the trailer, candles flickering, wrapping star hoops and realizing that I'm headed back to the land here. Everything's parting into a clear trail here. It feels good to be packing, and packing for the land.

I hope that as I act on what I feel I'm called to be clear about, that I don't lose you somehow. But the land is calling me, louder and louder each week. It's in my blood now. I'm tan from working today. I get to work naked when I want to. I get to sit and be still in the evening, and have no phone, and no electricity, and eat by the fading sun as the day flows out of me and the night flows in. I feel the change in light like a tide. I'm starving for nourishment from the ground and the sky.

I have a dream of you coming out here and seeing this place. I want to see your desert. I may even want to live some in your desert, but I want you to touch my Eden, too. How wonderful that we bring land to one another - how interesting that this dream has returned.

-- Anonymous, July 21, 2002