Treat dreams a little bit more like waking life, and waking life a little bit more like a dream. That’s some of the best advice I’ve ever received—maybe in general, but certainly in trying to recall my dreams more frequently.
Treating waking life like dreaming-- that is, looking for signs, symbols, layers of meaning in things-- also stimulates my writing. And its easy to do in the carnival of New York City.
I love picking up random pieces of paper I find on the street and imagining that someone wants me to read them like clues. Sometimes I find grocery lists, an occasional overwrought love-note, or most magically a single yellowed page from an old book sitting on the middle of an empty sidewalk.
This latest falls into the last category, a lone page from The Second Penguin Krishnamurti Reader. This is in part what it says:
What a gorgeous little reminder for me to open my heart on a cloudless summer night. Thanks Krishnamurti!“Meditation is a never-ending movement. You can never say that you are meditating or set aside a period for meditation. It isn’t at your command. Its benediction doesn’t come to you because you lead a systemized life or follow a particular routine or morality. It comes only when your heart is really open. Not opened by the key of thought, not made safe by the intellect, but when it is as open as the skies without a cloud; then it comes without your knowing, without your invitation."
What treasures have you found in the street or in the woods/desert/jungle? Stories, wisdom, inspiration?