You are solid, and the ground is real.

Words floating up to me
A voice, my voice, within a dream.
You are solid and the ground is real.

Subconsciously surrounded, struggling
Fight to keep from being buried
A quixotic quicksand of unpleasant anxiety
An all-enveloping despair
Of worries and fears old and new
The tasks and challenges of today and beyond
Create a blurry, thrashing, ever-changing unknown

Then, the words floating up to me
You are solid and the ground is real.
A mantra, repeated through the fog.
You are solid and the ground is real.
No meaning, pure cognitive emotion
You are solid and the ground is real.

A whirling world brought into focus.
The spinning miasmic anxiety crashes down
All around me, but I am solid and unhurt
Around me the anxiotic tapestry melts away
The strands connecting unconnected elements
Once tightening, now vaporize.
Something clear and stable and familiar emerges
My feet found purchase, the ground is real.

The a light shines through the cloud torn asunder
Showing the way, a path forward.
The things that I must do.
The fears that I must face,
They are still there
But now steady and unmoving I can see
That each alone can be conquered.
Each so insubstantial it is hard to comprehend
What moments ago weighed so heavy upon me
Piece by piece I pick them up.
Not all steps are forward, and there are failures.
Little by little the insurmountable is reduced.

I am solid, and my ground is real.


Here is a little bit in the way of explanation. The idea and mantra for this poem came to me in a dream last night.  Yes, I realize that this poem has all the angst of a Nirvana song without the artistry.  I also realizes that it seems like teenage Jason was trying to emerge in the form of bad poetry.  But who cares.  Its my blog, I can write what ever I like, and you, as a reader, can chose to read it or not, like it or not, make fun of it or not.  It isn’t often that things come to me in a dream.  Every once in a while I remember a dream, and even less seldom do I remember words from a dream.   I once read that Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote the epic poem Kubla Khan while in a opiate induced dream, only to forget the last half because he was interrupted before he could write it down. Lost to history and the after effects of opiates I can only wonder what that poem might be, given that its current form is considered one of the great poems of that generation.  My poem is neither epic nor at all likely to find the same level of historical significance.  Really the only similarity was that it came to me in a dream and I tried to write it down before I forgot it.  Maybe it was the lack of opium in my system, but all I can remember were the feelings and a single line: You are solid, and the ground is real.  It bounced around my dream and kept bouncing all through my morning.  You are solid, and the ground is real.  Of course it is a meaningless phrase.  But it was a phrase trickling up between subconscious and conscious thought; my brain trying to settle a host of recent events and tasks ahead.  It means nothing, but in the dream it was an anchor among a whirling dervish of thoughts and feelings. So I sat down and thought about the feelings of the dream before they faded. I put them to text. Then I tried to make that text into something resembling a poem.  It lacks rhyme or meter, but it has emotion.  Maybe someday I’ll remember the words that will carry it to something a bit more finished.  Or maybe it was just windy last night.

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