Spring Dreams in anticlimatic

Can’t get enough of life this spring. Feels like the very color of my soul is young green. I practice these meditations daily, sometimes constantly. The overwhelming aesthetic of waking nature is a great blanket for such things. Wet brown mud. Pale grey skies. Robins in the morning. Mourning doves in the evening. I let the colors and sounds and smells roll into me like combination attempts on a padlock. A padlock on a door to somewhere special. Somewhere between dreams.

I miss normal people, though I can barely stand them and have too little in common with them aside from warmth and best wishes. There is a very specific type of person that seems drawn to me. People with a sense of shame and social duty who yearn to breathe the freedom of individuality that I haplessly wear like a robe at all times. I think they wish they could be as shameless about who they are to the world as I am. Meanwhile, I wish I could blend in and be normal as well as they can.