and make the ordinary extraordinary

Naked Dreaming

I’m standing naked.
While this in itself is not a problem,
Being in the middle of my school farewell creates a dilemma.
It’s all falling apart.
The maths test is coming and I don’t have a clue.
It’s the second time I’ve done this year over,
And I still don’t have the foggiest what they’re talking about.
Dreams, the theatre of our inner world,
The interplay of parts and archetypes, heroes and villains.
It’s rich and it’s what’s really interesting.
Its mood inflects on our lives and makes it difficult to discern the dream and the dreamer.
So here I stand, naked, against should and could and believing in a path of heart.
A path that’s authentic, less mathematical.
Maths is ok if you’re into it.
But the real juice is the stuff that can’t be measured,
The stuff that only you can judge with a pass or fail,
That stuff from the dreaming.
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