i live in a cave

caveguess what.

i live in a cave.

this is it, in the picture above. inside my cave i do regular things like eat, drink, bathe and sleep.

and when i sleep, of course i dream.

i am never myself in my dreams. i’m always someone else.seas of mustardsometimes i dream that i’m the best jumper in the world.

i sometimes dream that i’m leaping high over mustard seas.

only when i see land do i alight. some may even say that i’ve actually flown.

and some may even think i’m a bird.

little fingerswhen i’ve eaten too much i dream that i am a ghost dipping my tiny feet into a cold pond.

but i don’t feel a thing because i’m no longer alive.

women praying to the rockonce i dreamt about four shrouded women praying to a rock.

it was so scary it woke me up and i had to get a drink of water.

swani don’t only dream when i sleep.

in fact, i dream all the time.

i dream that i can cartwheel, that i look like a swan, that i live in a proper house.

but alas, i live in a cave.

15 Comments on “i live in a cave”

  1. i don’t agree with your allegory at all, and your comparison is inconsistent. i assume the ‘cave’ you refer to in your latest comment is the ‘womb’. and yet the words you wrote on your blog claim you ‘live in a cave’ right now. which is it? you can’t have it both ways.

    • you are being too literal. i live in my cave, my oasis, my comfort zone, my womb (well, not my own womb). call it whatever you like. the womb is not my idea by the way. someone else told me that it looked to them like a womb and i just went along with it.

  2. right, so to return to my innocuous comment about ‘only the strongest stepping outside their caves / wombs / comfort zones’; my observation should have been allowed to stand. i was not ‘wrong’ in what i said. you choose to stay ‘in’ your whateveryouwanttocallit and that’s up to you. i’m just saying it takes strength to step outside. that, surely, you will agree with?

  3. thomas!
    you know what i used to do with my skinny dolls (i say skinny dolls because although i wanted a barbie, i was living in iran at the time which didn’t import them, so my father would get me the european versions)..well, i used to put them all in a shoebox and get such a thrill at how secure they looked! my heart still flutters in excitement as i think of them sitting safe and snug in the shoebox.

  4. Now I know you are not only an artist, but a poet. what a wonderful interpretation of something so simple and beautiful (beauty and simplicity) as your hands. ‘a ghost dipping my tiny feet into a cold pond.’Your imagination is so rare, vivid, breathtaking. Yesterday I came up with this thought. ‘Science is a means to an end, but Art, Art is an end itself? And a beginning, may I add. thankyou for bringing beauty to my day.

  5. wow! thank you. and you’re welcome :)

    you’re right. my end is art. just as my end is my children. everything else is just a means to it. but why put science and art in the same sentence? yuck!

    but seriously, i do like science. because it is not mandatory anymore, i enjoy it greatly. in fact, i see science as an art. despite its bases on facts and proofs, there is a great deal of creativity involved. sometimes i even wish i were a scientific artist or a scientartist!

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