In my dreams,
I feed my muse,
But wake with words fading,
Like hearts we traced in sand with our toes,
Lapped away in cresting foam.

I have been having the most vivid dreams lately. Some filled with zombies and adventures. Others highly provacative and bodily. Many mundane. I really should start a dream journal - or start doing my 750words when I first rise, as opposed to later in the day when I tend to fit it in. (When I even do it.)

I recently had a dream willed with writing prompts. Clear, inspired writing prompts. This thought that I should run to put pen on paper (or fingers on my keyboard) to start writing all about these beautiful, wondorous things.

But, of course, then I wake up and can't even begin to imagine what those inspired words were.

I think it's just as valid to ponder the fleeting nature of inspiration.

I sat in a yoga and meditation class a couple weeks ago with the theme of comittment. The teaching seemed obvious, but aren't most? By comitting to our path of happiness, we will find true contentment. I often see my comittment to healthy choices as the most obvious example of this in my life. My comittment to love and friendship is less concrete, but potent.

You know how you might comission an artist to paint something for you? How about greater life comissions? And obvious word plays with the word omission.

Something is brewing there, but I can say what.

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