Bonobo--that’s the one.
At times, upon those budding moments of awakening, words drip into my thoughts, consciousness still tethered to my dream state by a frayed thread. This morning it was the name of a particular type of monkey that catapulted over to reality, one that--more than a week ago!--I couldn't recall.
More often, however, the words or ideas that tickertape before me are entirely random and at other times leave me sleuthing for connections to my waking life. Usually to no avail.
Renee Lauier.
It was June 25, 2009.
He rode a mighty steed.
Cavalier, obsequious, gossamer, cogent.
I’ve never heard of Renee Lauier, and I have no idea what significance June 25, 2009, might hold, if any. Why the ticker tape at times reveals only a single word? Don't know that either.
Yet, this elusive conversationalist reminds me of just how beautifully complicated the human language is (let alone humans!), and how words allow the opportunity to cobble together sentences and paragraphs, to turn them into evocative messages and stories that can be shared with others.
I’ve long held a deep appreciation for authors--novelists in particular. Reading an embracing story has the ability to not only entertain, but to provoke wonder, to question, to consider, and even to grow. I love a good book. And yes, I do mean love. Books can be as empathetic as humans and certainly more interesting than my everyday life, making it easy to label them so endearingly. Especially the classics: Jane Eyre, Middlemarch, Tess of the d’Ubervilles. Because sound literature is lasting. It holds the key to humanity’s ability to understand (or at least attempt to understand) each other and even, perhaps, the world beyond us. Somewhat like dreams. Or maybe the opposite of dreams . . .
I wonder, did Ms. Lauier drop in unannounced on Ms. Bronte? Did George Eliot or Thomas Hardy ever awaken with words hovering in the ether and build a story from them? Did they--does anyone besides me--ever experience ticker tape mornings?
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