The Deepest Pond.

A few nights ago, I had a complicated dream that had many beautiful and creative moments. But the intensity came from the end of the dream, in which I drove aimlessly through a parking lot and then backed my car into a deep pond. As my car tipped, I wondered how I thought I'd get the car door open with the pressure of the water. I realized, of course, that I didn't intend to. I also realized that I had done this before but somehow survived and repressed the memory.

I think I know where this part of the dream originated. I've been thinking lately about my hallucinations. They've returned recently though a new medication is quieting them. My most recent one was auditory, which I don't experience often. I was sitting in my chair with my back to Oliver's room. I heard someone approach on the level of a child. I heard breathing and then a snicker. It didn't sound like a child. I had thought that perhaps Oliver had gotten out of bed, but that clearly wasn't so, and when I turned, nothing was there. I felt--waterlogged. I realized that this feeling is common when I have hallucinations: I feel as if I'm underwater--not clean, clear water but green, murky water. Everything feels slow and labored even as my brain does something it shouldn't be able to do. And when the illusion ends, I feel as if I'm coming out of water, my hair plastered to my face, my ears and mouth full. And I can't escape quickly from the hold of what happened. Thinking of this metaphor may have sent me to the pond in my dream.

Unrestrained Delight.

This phrase is from something by Janis Owens. Wow. This is not something I experience often.

When I was going through a manic obsession with swimming, I seemed to fall in love with water. I sometimes swam twice a day. I loved colls showers, and I put water on my wrists and arms when I was overwhelmed. When I couldn't sleep, Josh was drag a wet washcloth over my back. It was a frenzy. Of course, lithium was also making me insanely thirsty. So water was magical all around. I needed to be in it, and I needed to fill myself with it.

I've had other manic delights, such as buying work clothes. I hunted for absurd deals online. I waited for the packages. The guilt was not enough to fight the delight.

But unrestrained delight doesn't come only from illness. I often feel great delight as a show begins--the house lights go down, the orchestra tunes up. Usually, I have no idea what I'm getting into. But often, the delight continues through the show. I used to have unrestrained delight just over showtunes and programs full of bright photos.

I feel unrestrained delight some time in a bookstore, paper-rich gift shops, unexpected favorites like fairies and Disney princesses--so much to see and ponder.

I usually feel joy when I start a new journal or new book. So much possibility is there. I feel that delight when I open a gift--who chose this? Why? What wonder can I do with this and the love in it?