Ask Dr. Druid . Day 50 . What the Cactus Knows

Dr. Druid . Day 50
What the Cactus Knows

piece will read best for you
if you read it with your mouth as if
out loud
Dr. Druid
designed to begin at the beginning.

You can enter rem states as you're writing. That is,
you write from inside the vision. Or you can wake from the rem state
and write as you slosh in the shallows of the remembered dream/rem sea.
What keeps you from completely surfacing when you rise out of rem is
the silver-fish of a phrase or scene you use as a portal back to the
dream. Scribbling down this silver-fish-phrase can keep the dream from
sliding away into opaque depths. That's why I have my log next to my
pillow and a pencil there too. A pencil writes at any angle so you can
stay pretty asleep or in rem. This cactus piece was a rem vision I had
from semi-waking. I wrote it down as if I were writing a letter to you.

I find myself talking to a cactus. (Since I was a child talking to
trees before I learned that one did not talk about talking to trees,
'talking to' meant 98% 'listening to' trees.) Or in this case, cactus.
This was a proper desert with dramatic hilly ranges of lion-colored
sand. I felt like la petite princesse — well, ok, la princesse tres
rondelette. If I looked thru the earth, I saw the bottoms of kangaroo
feet nearer to my right and less far than at home so tal vez or perhaps
this immense sand sea was In America del Sur?

The cactus was not a
candelabra of my beloved saguaros, but one cylinder about 6 ft tall. It
spoke by imprinting me with oneiroglyphs, as trees speak. It was
reminding me, not meanly but with cactus-spine-sharp irony, that I had
had a “stupid prejudice to the leafy and needled” when I was younger.
That I had come “noticeably” late to the devotion to succulents and
cacti. That I had even said roughshoddedly that iceplants had “fat
leaves.” Being chastised teasingly by a cactus leaves you helpless with
abashed hilarity.

Cactus was very old but young at pith. The real
rootnets, it was saying, are the in-the-dirt antennae of the flowering
plants, the trees, the tomato plants, the corn stalks, the jungle
vines, ++. It tuned something in my daedalus or central brain matrix so
I could hear the hum/purr of their gossip + palaver with the bottoms of
my feet. It saw me not as I see my own body, but, instead of 'skin,' as
a swirling of 3D animated 'tattoos' of all the experiences which
inhabit me. Cactus was +very+ caustic about the “care-less-ness of your
species-ilk.” It was vexxxed. “We don't mind you. We don't mind the
squirrels and the rabbits either. But if you listened more with the
ears of, the screens of your feet, you'd learn to be less noisy.” In this tone, we took trez cool tour thru the filigree of the world's roots.

I had 'feelings' in my feet, not head nor heart nor gut. I also felt
the pulse of my blood in my feet — my feet beating, like small drums
speaking to other feet? I felt feet-bottoms to feet-bottoms with the
kangaroos. A new glot, feet-bottom-glot, or language to learn. Ham

I've been looking lately at some spectacular
altiplano desert picts of Bolivia by Gerhard Hudepohl.  I'm obsessed
with the Green Evolution. And with teaching tele + oneiroportation to
cut down on fossil-fuel combustions.

Re-start scribbling down your visions either as you drift to rem or as you return from rem. You are a rem reporter.
.. I use rem as a general term for the imaginative states of vision and
nightdream. I see all our experiences as dreams along a spectrum of
kinesthetic persistence. So what you tend to refer to as your 'daily
life' would have great stretches of K1 or the first level of
kinesthetic persistence. The continents of the geography of your
experience. There are many stretches of dreamy or drifting
semi-perception thru your day which are the lacunae (little lakes) or
unkickable parts of your experience. (People are are proving that
matter exists by kicking the boulder and saying “Ouch!”)
..le petit prince , from the book by St. Exupery, spends much of his
time alone with his single rose. The joke here is that I feel my self
in this vision like the little prince, but a girl, and because I'm
chubby rondolette rather than petit or little. Tres (tray) means very
in French & my franglais or fractured French for that is often trez
— also a small droll because in the proper french you leave off the
“s” sound unless the next word starts with a vowel. Thus the French
would never say Trez droll, but it amuses me.
..suguaro is pronounced soo-whar-oh.
..oneiroglyphs .. 3D glyphs from oneiro or dreams; cf hieroglyphs made into scenes.
..daedalus bridge .. It's fun to re-ember the firefly-fraught
tale of Icarus & Daedalus. Now nobody has ever done psychology like
the Greeks. Well, they invented the word psychology too after all. (Jung called
astrology the accumulated wisdom of the ancients.) Daedalus &
Icarus are captured on some dullsville island. Daedalus, the master
craftsman, talks to them local bees and uses their wax plus the feathers of
cormorants and makes fine wings for him & Icarus. Daedalus extols
the middle way — not too high or the sun will melt the wax, the
structure of your dear wings, or too low lest the curling crests of
waves catch you in their idly tricksy grasps. Oh well we all know that
Icarus flew too high, wings melted, fell into sea. Daedalus, however
made it to the mainland. Hurray for, say, sensible madness. I like to use his name as the master craftsman to honor the
the corpus callosum, the middle of the joined-brain, the daedalus
bridge, the powerful middle way, as it were — the wings-crafting place
where the brain joins all its forces in a rhapsody, a woven song.

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