Dreaming of
a platypus,
that’s how
best to describe
the confused
and disorganized
dreams that
have kept me awake
these past
few nights.
In dreams,
both the hero and
villain,
lover and fighter,
enraged and passive,
yet always
shocked into
wakefulness
by intangibles.
A platypus
does not question
the nature
of its reality,
it simply is
what it is and does
what it does
even though to our eyes,
it’s a
mish-mash of other animals.
I’m grumpy
and annoyed
with the
state of things,
things I no
longer understand
about the
world, a world that
seems
changed.
Yet, it’s
unchanged. It’s the
same cycle
of nonsense as
history
repeats and patterns follow
patterns of
pre-laid plans of long
dead men.
A desire to
be modern, open, free
and unique,
tempered by degrees
of imposed
limitations, quixotically
mashed together
in a stew of
potentiality.
Duck-billed,
beaver-tailed,
otter body,
egg laying mammal,
with
venomous spikes in the heels,
unique in
the animal kingdom,
yet just
like every other platypus.
The dreams,
keeping me awake,
frustrated
and riddled with self-doubt,
inferiority,
mingled with a curious
confidence
and optimism about
where and
whom I’m supposed to be.
Dichotomous
and complex,
endeavoring
for wholeness,
and the
peace that comes with
knowing
oneself,
like a happy
platypus, dreaming of me.
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