driving cars in dreams

I am living a life as quiet as decaffeinated coffee, but I am not decaffeinated, not at all. 

The gypsy who read my grounds told me about my death, that it would be good to the last drop. 

I am waiting in a large brown mug, poured in large measures with raw sugar. 

I am hot and black, rich, a dark roast with a real punch. 

The gods of espresso brewed me in their image, and cast me in beans. 

The steam rips through the grounds of me in prayer, and these gods will be answered. 

Add cream if you wish, but drink, reader, drink. 

You need to wake up. 

At some point, we all need to wake up.

james lee jobe

I take my fundamental cue from John Coltrane; there must be a priority of integrity, honesty, decency, and mastery of craft. 

Cornel West

PLAYING FOR CHANGE, What A Wonderful World

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In the dream I had to drive a car down a highway at night, in the rain, while not in the car. I was in another car miles away. Also in the rain. Dreams can often present absurd challenges. When I turned my car, or braked, the other did also, no matter what its circumstances may be. And I could not see this other car. I didn’t know if it was safe. I struggled and worried. Would I hurt people? Kill someone? I finally got to where I was going and parked. My mother, Nena, was alive in this dream and I remarked to her how the situation was like life. What I do here could end up hurting someone I didn’t even know. She didn’t answer. I looked back outside and the rain was clearing off, it was down to just some drizzle. Morning had come, and the sky was gray but beginning to fill with light, the way a person can fill with love. I realized that I was dreaming. No one had been hurt, I thought, not this time. 

james lee jobe 

Don't surrender all your joy for an idea you used to have about yourself that isn't true anymore.” 

Cheryl Strayed

PLAYING FOR CHANGE, Everyday People

Old man, old man, old man. 

I am drunk with the power of it. 

The poverty of old age and seniority. 

At this age, I am a window 

that always looks to the inside, 

from either side of the glass. 

I am like flatulence on a windy day, 

here, but not for long. 

Watch how quickly I blow away.  

james lee jobe

Poppies in October Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly – A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers. Oh my God, what am I That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frosts, in a dawn of cornflowers. Sylvia Plath

Poetry is high class information.

Gary Snyder

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jlj