It was late Saturday afternoon and the lizards and I were heading back home after a trip to town for Lotto tickets. Crazy Pegs, my 4 days into 12 years old, was sitting in the back seat. Her face was buried in a book she had read before. From the rear view mirror, I couldn't tell if she was reading only the right side pages again, but I was glad this sometimes demented lizard was engrossed. Booga, my 10 year old, was sitting in front with me. She chattered away at me, indifferent as to whether I was listening or not. They were both at ease because they knew the way was home.

On the way to town, I wouldn't tell them where we were going. I announced that we were leaving and told them to put their jackets and shoes on and try to get in the car without letting the dogs out of the house in the process. From the moment I started the car, they kept demanding to know where we were going. Each time I would answer either "crazy" or "nuts" and they would ask again. They kept at it without pause even after I turned into the convenience store parking lot. They only stopped asking when I surprised them by turning off the motor and getting out of the car. They scrambled out after me and watched me buy the tickets with a look on their faces that combined dumbfounded with indignation in a way that only children can achieve. As we got back into the car, they finally seemed satisfied that I had indeed gone crazy to come all the way into town just to buy Lotto tickets.

Actually, Booga was beginning to drive me crazy with her babbling. I knew she was more than capable of keeping it up all the way home unless I found a way to stop her. I felt like simply telling her to "shut up", but that's something I hope I'll never say to my lizards. So I thought of something else.

Booga, I interrupted, do you want to try something? Of course, she did, because she could tell my play tone of voice and we often played well together. OK, close your eyes and tell me what you see. Nothing, she said, as if I was somehow trying to trick her.

No, look again, and tell me what color you see. Giving me the benefit, she did look again and told me she saw black. That's right, I told her, and if you look at the black for awhile, you'll see there is a pool of color in it. I could tell by her stillness that she was trying to see.

With delight in her voice, she suddenly told me she saw two pools! That was a surprise to me as, in my experience, there would only be one color at a time. With me it had always been purple. What are the colors? Orange and red, she said with fascination.

OK, keep watching the colors and you'll begin to notice that one color is beginning to emerge. Gold, she said with triumph. OK, now watch the gold and see if you can see any images in it. It could be anything. Could be a person that you know or someone you don't know, could be an animal or a tree, or an alien. It could be anything, but watch for motion.

A wheel, she said. I see a wheel with spokes, like a western wagon wheel. Good. Keep watching and you'll see it dissolve into something else, some other image. Try to see yourself on that fallen tree over the stream when we hiked down the gorge. Do you see it? Do you see the running water?

The delight in her voice was more pronounced as she fed me details of what she was seeing. OK, now try to see the face of a person. Try your grandmother, look at her smile. She did and she did and I told her to notice that the image was alive, that what she was seeing was better than a photograph and cheaper too.

Almost all the way home, Booga focused on the images running through her head. Her mouth was partway open as she smiled in delight. As we turned off the highway onto our road, I told her that some people called what she was seeing the stream of consciousness. That some people thought her stream and my stream came from the same source.

As we turned into the driveway, I told her to practice seeing the images. I told her that if she did, she would never be bored again because there was an infinite number of images. I told her she could see them any time she wanted. While waiting for the dentist, during class if it was boring; whenever she wanted to.

She was filled with joy. I had given her a tangible trick and, in her own words, she thought it was "awesome." Think of it as fishing, I told her, you're on the bank of the stream of consciousness and you're fishing images. I don't think she understood that, but it didn't matter as now we were home. Hope you enjoyed the story. . . response welcome, pro and con. Seb

Seb Nielsen
2032 Blue Mountain Rd.
Port Angeles, WA 98362
360-452-1046
seb@olympus.net
@1995