Cave of Forgotten Dreams ...

It's Sunday morning, and I am down in the tomb (errrr ... I mean the Starseed office) with a little time to write between classes.  I wish so much that I could have written last night before bed, but I was in such a state (in a good way, for a change) that what came out would have been barely coherent.

After spending the afternoon at Whole Foods with Amy, promoting The Institute, I was feeling very vulnerable about my new name being public.  I don't know why, but for some reason, it feels harder explaining this regeneration to people than the last one.  I really don't know why.

Heading back towards home in the late afternoon, I sank into a morbid depression.  Mercifully, E was into spending some time together, which led to our second consecutive evening of time spending, on the heels of Friday's walk around Packanack Lake after my Flame Shift.

We went up to PPP, which still feels like a novelty after eighteen months of sequestering.  We had a tasty dinner at the food court, then decided to go to the AMC to see a strange and wonderful film called Cave of Forgotten Dreams.  What happened next was amazing ...

We were both tired, and expecting an IMAX type film, full of inspiring vistas and uplifting music.  What we got was a mind blowing European exploration into ... I'm not exactly sure what!  It was beautiful.  It was existential.  It was downright hallucinogenic in places.

The avant garde soundtrack (mostly chamber music) really enhanced the experience, as did the fact that we kept falling asleep.  Normally you would think that would be a bad thing, or indicative of a lousy film, but no ... this was quite the opposite.

I honestly think this would have been awesome in the middle of the day, wide awake to the world.  I really do.  But seeing it (maybe feeling it would be a better description) this way felt like such a treasure, such a fleeting, magickal moment.

We drove home in a daze, wondering if this is kind of what people feel like when they are stoned.  Bug even told me that the message I left on her voice mail before I went to bed (she was out late herself) sounded like I was high, which in a weird way, was a good thing.

Of course, the best part of all this is that I wasn't morbidly depressed anymore.  Thank you Pal-o!  Thank you Werner Herzog!  Thank you long ago people from the past who painted that cave!