This is a time and a place of reflection. Back here, at Sandycrest Terrace–the first place I lived all on my own as an adult. The first place I was totally financially responsible for myself. The first place I was in charge of my whole life. Here I am again…

(Written on May 18…)

…I’ve been very lucid today and even in my early morning dreams, after having awakened at 3:48 for no reason, and finally falling back to sleep at 5:15. I read for awhile. It always works.

…In those hours, I dreamt of the Himalayas. I used to have a certificate for having flown over them in a little rickety plane when I was probably 8. I was dreaming partly of that piece of paper, and partly about the event; then, I looked down and I was above Mt. Everest, and I was in a plane. In my dream, I wanted to make my mom proud that I remembered that day. All of a sudden, everything was lush and green, and although I was still excitedly talking to my mom, I was walking the path through the Himalayas.

I passed a monastery and looked back. Seeing the monks, I smiled. They were emptying bags of grain into large brown ceramic pots. I said, “monks again…” and the dream switched off.

I awoke, crying. All I could conceptualize is how I feel my mother has never understood me, and how I keep talking to a friend about monks. I really like the idea of their cloister world of spiritual intellectualism and that they interface with the economic world by making chocolates and beer, each monastery offering one finely crafted item to the world.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the trajectory of my life based on choices I’ve made, people I’ve met, and friendships–true and false–that I’ve formed, all stemming from this thing about my mother never really getting who I am. It is a hollow thought. Then I thought of my many life-long friendships, and of so many others who populate my life.

Coming back is moving forward.