Listening to Adam Gnade.

I keep disappearing into my head; falling in a trance while standing, while listening, while talking.
When I was ten I had a friend who's Mom had brain cancer. She wore a turban and sometimes she would be talking to us and then just go away. Not physically leave but fade out of reality and go somewhere else for a moment. They wouldn't let her drive. Maybe I shouldn't drive. Not saying I have brain cancer.
In yoga we sometimes do meditations for staying present.
Be in the room, they tell us. Be present.
Even now I am in my head.
I try to be here. In my living room, listening to the sprinklers, traffic outside.
Suddenly I am staring and hear nothing. My pupils disappear and all that is left of my eyes are my irises and the wash.
Have I trained myself so well in the art of mental escapism it has become my default-mode?
Perhaps there was a time-quake and instead of events repeating themselves they are happening differently and my mind is still living in the first set of events; reliving the memories of an already time.
This year has had that kind of quality ... getting fired, new jobs, writing zines with serious intention, becoming connected to a community of letter writers and project makers. Maybe it was never supposed to happen.
If there has been a time-quake my hypnosis is becoming stronger as the schism between the old reality and the new become increasingly disparate. Becoming ever more so with every day of action and every new unexpected happening.
It is summer and I am overwhelmed with the momentum of a radical transformation.
What I was wanting to do with this friend was have a meaningful conversation.
But, rather than speaking, I wanted to connect in pure to images, telepathically, quiet and without words. Communicate like Vulcan's in a mind-meld, splayed open palms rested on temples.
Sitting in the grass, picking at mosquito bites words seemed flat, flooded with over-generalized meaning. Bulky words clunking on a delicate surface. They were knitting needles when I needed embroidery.
I wanted to discuss the big things but couldn't find the grace.
It all makes me think of the bit in Waking Life with the beautiful swirling blond haired Kim Krizan:
"...so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed. It’s unspeakable. And yet, you know, when we communicate with one another and we feel we have connected and think we’re understood I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion."
I've been living a separate life and haven't invented the words to explain it.