Even when alone, dancing in the hall, there is someone snapping pictures of me—lightning cube flashes through the vent, I am watching a movie between all of me’s. Bringing in props, but like a prison or someplace I can’t get out of, brother’s keeper sending me gifts—chocolates. I am a blonde, with long straight hair eating what they give me.
There are two cats and they help me through these spontaneous night healing's, a spotted leopard and a black panther. There is a grate I am afraid to approach, I take the two cats, lightning our way in, there is a box which contains a lie I’ve obeyed devised by church and parents. We rip off the grate cover, revealed is a little box mechanism. We go to my friends’ house to burn the papers—my writing and I ask her what she’s been writing. I tell her this is my story not yours. No hurt, just burned the papers.
Martha, who is leaving Topanga Canyon, turning a glassed leaf to fresh, is my lightning dream partner. She listens intently and asks, “Well, Kimberly, what are your core values? Seems you really need to get clear on these.”
In honoring the dreams, I process in my journal—Consult Auntie Google. What are my personal values? Have they changed? Should I quit some? Add? Slow down? Find out? Times when you were most proud of yourself? Most fulfilled? Create a list, to choose from, and prioritize, four or five.
There is a great cataloguing, considering, a crossing off and culling, a circling and a gathering and for my final four, combinations created by hyphenation, but nonetheless a solid and stable four for my core:
And the synchronistic surprise in listing these? As I type for the as-fast-as-I-can five minutes, I accidentally shift on 4, the last above, and first edition reads, $. art, writing, self-psyche! We all know the message, do what you LOVE and the $$$ will follow!
Photo: Me, wearing wild cat pajamas.
