Could I repeat myself precisely? Without access to the past? What about for a parade?
In my dream, an old Irish woman cracked funny at a funeral. Outside the window was a big parade (with what seemed like too much space between marching bands). She said, we criticize the Gods and right then it's a banana peel appears on the stairs.
As if by magic. Someone dies and all of a sudden students abound. She did not mean that the Gods were invested in retribution.
Rather, we assign this or that quality to the Gods and simultaneously adapt the world to that quality? The secret to everything is that we're doing it to ourselves. But also - importantly - that the "we" in question has no idea what it is.
One draws a breath, one hunches their shoulders, awaiting a blow. A lighthouse? The seating was cramped and many were annoyed when I laughed out loud, saying to the man next to me, I get it.
I finally got it! I have been given permission to embrace the Thoreauvian impulse. He was supported largely by his mother and one certain kindly benefactor.
"But be sure to watch without judgment or condemnation what attracts you," he wrote. Oh sure and purple monkeys with winning lottery tickets will fly out of my butt singing early Elvis Presley songs.