Monday, January 24, 2011

Lullaby-way

SO much of a world to see, a lot to hear… more of limbs and trees and thighs to grab, grope or grasp… some meat or morsel to baste over with ember tongue… with just six senses all worked up in childhood’s exuberant enthusiasm.

An elder’s threats of thorough spanking put the brakes to a mélange of mischief impish on hyper-drive, bundled me off and… Enter Sandman—‘say your prayers, little one… don’t forget, my son, to include everyone… tuck you in warm within, keep you free…’

It turns out that there are more to sex or six of waking senses…that awaken in sleep.

Say, here’s a word I coined in R.E.M. slumber— “somnicate.” Why ambulate when it’s a lot pleasurable to fornicate while asleep?

On a cairn of rocks did a Jacob fell somnolent… and upon such arid pile rose up a ladder-- loftier and a lot sturdier than Babel’s tower—on rungs of which God’s angels did loiter, up and down, up and down, up and down… come, come, that wasn’t an extended wet dream in which a succubus either did the jackhammer on or jacked off Jacob.

On such a threshold between the mundane and celestial is a veil between worlds… slough off the febrile flesh of humanity, slip into something more comfy… the angelic, the divine, a harlequin’s… so a sleeper dreams he is a butterfly, awakens from the dream… but, is struck in awe-- he might be a butterfly dreaming of awakening as a sleeper.

Ah, the lachrymal glands purportedly serve as wormholes into which the soul sneaks out and roams about as the body sleeps… ah, crying in your sleep…let me lick with tender tongue your tears, my dear, and through your tear ducts whisper a soft word or two that may pluck, sound out a chord to echo in your soul…

Creative dreaming… psycho-cybernetic hardwiring, reprogramming… the nagual seeping into waking reality… the scattered fragments or entirety of dreams and nightmares take on flesh before wide open eyes… so dream on, “our dreams will never die,” as rebel soldiers aver… “History belongs to the dreamers,” asserts Daewoo founder Kim Woo-choong.

Dream free, dream big, dream both expansive and expensive… libre namang mangarap.

Pero sa lupalop, lalawigan at lunan ng mga pangarap, pati katotohanan ay kumukurap…

Mga kabundukan, kahit mikrobyo’t bituin, pisngi ng lupa, daliri ng kidlat at hangin, lawak at ligwak ng tubig, kahit mga lamanlupa’t lambana, engkanto’t diwata… kahit dambuhalang animal o mumunting kulisap ay makakausap… masasangguni, magsasaysay, maglalahad, magpapahayag.


It turns out that there are more to sex or six of waking senses…that awaken in sleep. A sense of wonder, a sense of calm serenity, a sense of discernment of the spirit, what’s there to rouse but a lot more?

So, the visits to my grandchildren come far too few and between… kung anu-ano kasing pagpapakitang-gilas ang gagawin ng apong Musa para maagaw ang aking pansin… such extended shows of affection and fondness wreaks havoc on her sleeping schedule, why, siesta ought to be fiesta.

And there’s a world of wonder and magic most marvelous she can traipse through beyond the fondest waking moments.

In adulthood, we trudge through harsh edges of stark reality as we claw, slash and clash along on our way to the top… in that headlong chase after now fleeting, shattered dreams.

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