Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The background music is called  Rainday by Blue Dot Sessions Blue Dot Sessions
Hello, Welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus.
I can’t wait to close my eyes and go to sleep. It is like living twice. Something similar happens when reading a book or watching a movie. There are stories that play out in spaces and times, other planes of existence, that enrich life as we know it. The first and most obvious for me are my dreams. And more recently, the space of dreams where I feel the presence of loved ones. As if that were the place where I can be with the person or people with whom I am not with in my waking world. It is a place that feels different than a dream. Sometimes I would prefer a dream so at least I could carry out a conversation with that presence. A presence that might accompany me till the moment I wake. When I wake, I only have the memory or recollection of presence. Generally a feeling of comfort and then the reminder that they are not in the waking place. Still feels as true as any given coffee date, party, or stroll down the street. A memory without a face or actions, just presence. I have come to accept this. I wonder if this happens to you too.
I also wonder, how they gained entrance to this place.  Who let them past the gates? Was it the shared laughter, the memories or the stories written? It must have been the laughter. 
In waking life, there are parallel worlds we can experience together. People who join bookclubs are organized in their travels. Sharing the experience from the same pages can be like taking the trip more than once on the same ticket. Each reader becomes a tour guide, pointing to different scenes, alerting the rest to the words and meanings that might have not been evident. I think they are pack hunters, thirsty for blood and guts and experiences borne from imaginations and recollections of others. There are those who read up on the context of the author, searching for clues in their life and surrounding political, social, technological, musical, and cultural contexts. Whethering Hights is not the same after book club, I am not the same after either. There are more voices and dimensions of the same story after a meeting with the story hunters. I love them.
In waking life, there is magic projected onto screens we congregate around in hollow rooms of darkness and overpowering loudness. As if we needed much to fall into a trance. Perhaps only 15% aware of the person in front of us because they laughed a little hard, or cheered the protagonist on. When this happens, the trance is not broken, this becomes a shared experience in which echos of laughter and grunts of indignation, shrieks from being startled, and sighs of relief constitute the stuff of group therapy. We share. And when we don’t share the same reaction, it is also significant. The most personal reactions, primal evicerations of soul happening next to complete strangers. All the while, breathing the same air, sharing the same sound waves and chemical reactions that make image. We are part of the chemistry experiment. The missing elements in the lab. We pay for this shared experience, a temporary voyeristic partnership and lift on the restrictions of the public expression of shame, sadness, pain, fear, angst, seemingly masked by the darnkess. Seemingly anonymous. It is not so dark we cannot see each others faces or hear each other’s voices. We are traveling together, we paid for our visa at the door. Continue reading

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