Of dreamers and dreams

Four a.m. Someone, something throws water on my face trying to wrestle me back into consciousness. It stings but I do not fully awaken, only enough to be aware of what is playing out. My body lies still, paralyzed in either fear or anticipation of what is to come. I watch in horror as my babies slip through my fingers into a rushing river, the love of my life disappears inside a savage tornado, a gun is pointed to my head and the trigger pulled over and over and over sending shock waves through each molecule in my being. The only thing I can register as reality is the sweat these scenes generate, soaking my bed sheets until I shiver under the weight of its dampness.

What is a dream? Why do we have them? I’ve heard they are our subconscious seeking ways to sort out our underlying fears and frustrations. The players in the dream simply represent part of ourselves that we are unable to come to terms with during waking hours. Reliving past hurts or joys under rapid eye movements. I have a cursory awareness of what Freud and Jung thought regarding them but after reading a few paragraphs, my head starts to spin. Some cultures believe dreams represent symbols to tell the future or our struggles in an altered plane of existence. Recent theorists now lean more toward their meaninglessness than anything else – random visions created by random stimuli before dozing off.

Mostly, they frustrate the fuck out of me.

The room is shadowed in late evening sun. There is a piano and smell of lilacs. We are dancing. Holding one another in a tender embrace that is of pure light. He sings a song gently in my ear, words I know I will recognize upon awakening when they are played on the radio. We laugh and touch as two old souls who chose to walk an ethereal plane while others merely close their doors. It is not sexual, it is a deep knowing closeness that we share. The light gets brighter. It always does. And the music turns into an electronic beeping ripping us away with barely the time to whisper goodbye until we can find each other again.

I want some of my dreams to have significance and true meaning for my awakened soul. Others, I want to forget and give into their nothingness. Can I have it both ways? Of course, I can do anything I want. The battle lies somewhere in between as my inner hall monitor waves her red flag, screaming “You have to chose! You have to chose!”

The history of me has been riddled with nightmares – true, baffling, body-thrashing, involuntary shrieking and a forceful cleaving into rapid consciousness. Images of dead relatives rising from their coffins as I try to bash their skulls back down with a sledgehammer. Desperate chases as someone has taken my child from me and I cannot rescue them before they are lost over a bridge into a flood. The worst are the dreams where I am dreaming of being in bed asleep only to be awakened in the dream by one of these horrors. Distinguishing the line between dream and reality becomes much too difficult for my brain to determine until it is too late and I am writhing in mental anguish, praying for the end to come quickly or the sun to wake me.

There are great dreams, too, where I fly through the skies and know I was meant to. I dream of reading my inauguration poem for the nation on a beautiful, crisp day in Washington DC. Riding whales and horses, holding very old hands with my husband and traveling to distant lands I might not ever get to see when I am awake. I have dreams with my familiar on journeys fantastical or snuggling comfort where the gentle purring echoes long passed awakening. Or the miracle life growing inside of an empty space where my uterus used to be.

The long studied, over analyzed and clearly undefinable classic human conflicts – accepting the desired good with the perceived bad, embracing the dark while living in the light, giving to receive, receiving to give, taking a risk in order to be safe, coke versus pepsi, if it’s okay to go, then it’s okay to stay, less filling or great taste, honoring the flag through civil disobedience, opposites attracting, “to be or not to be” and an entire universe fitting within the nucleus of a single atom.

All of these are in us as humanity – in me as part of that larger family.

Is this what I dream of?

Or am I dreaming right now?

I am driving down a dirt road and see him walking in a crowd of people. He is sobbing and lost. I pull over to talk to him and he tells me a story I cannot bear to hear. Or repeat. I fly into a rage and try to determine if I am awake or asleep. He turns into cake as I rip him apart yelling no, no, no. I lash out at the world trying to make sense of it all. My body rolls over and I see the clock. Four a.m.

Sailing lessons

I got an email recently about sailing without blame.

I imagine the sailing crew working together, hoisting the mainsail, securing the jib to the leading edge, tacking efficiently to follow the course of the wind and all smiling as the warm moist sea glistens on their working bodies. Everyone is fit and tan from the energetic sun and the boat glides smoothly over a calm sea.

I’m going to need some lessons. Or a new manual to follow. I have no idea what I just said.

What I end up doing is nothing like my imaginations. It resembles more of a cobbled together soap box, filled with leaded glass and gun powder on a metal frame that generates sparks while I drag it along the asphalt looking for an ocean to launch it in. I have long since kicked out any crew willing to assist me out of fear of losing them first to a better boat. I desperately thought I had abandoned this slip a long time ago and cannot figure out how to unlock it from my hitch.

Then, I seem to stall out…like now…

It’s time … meme needed to get me started …

Saw it on my blog-friend’s page, and you can get the original here. I need to get out from under my rock, and write something. Anything. Here is a start…

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1)  You are facing an epic journey. You may choose one companion, one tool and one vehicle from any book or film to accompany you. Or just one of the three. It’s up to you. What do you choose?

I would bring my familiar with me. My familiar is my late-cat, Monroe Jerome. We would not need tools nor a vehicle – we’d get by just fine.

2)  You can escape to the insides of any book. Where do you go, and why?

When looking to escape and not find a cure for my aching soul, I run away into a world of intrigue and covert action – spy novels. I love Robert Ludlum, Ken Follett, Frederick Forsyth and David Baldacci.

3)  You can bring one literary character into your current life. Who do you choose, and why?

Miss Jane Pittman because until this very moment in searching for information on non-fiction books, I thought she was a real woman. Her strength and wisdom through an entire people’s struggle is not only mind-boggling but much needed for my own simple stretch of life. I read the book as a kid and took the title literally until this day.

4)  Sacred Voices: Essential Women’s Wisdom Through the Ages by Mary Ford Grabowski is my go-to book. I could read that book fifty-seven times in a row without a break for food or a pee and not be remotely bored. In fact I’ve already done that but it wasn’t fifty-seven times. It was sixty-four.

5)  Of all the literary or film characters that made an impression on you as a kid, who was the most enviable?

As a kid, I don’t remember the feeling of envy. Maybe I have manipulated memories now that I am a “grown-up” and truly do battle with envy, but as a kid? The closest I can come, I think, is Rizzo from Grease. So wanted to be that tough chick with a voice that could belt out my worst things

6)  Of all the literary or film characters that made an impression on you as a kid, who was the most frightening?

Poltergeist. Absolutely, the Poltergeist in Poltergeist. And those damn red pig eyes and flies from Amityville (book, not movie – never could see the movie). And I still have trouble at the beach thanks to a certain shark (both versions.)

7)  Every time I read _________________, I see something in it that I haven’t seen before.

This one was hard for me – I honestly don’t reread many books. Sacred Voices is a book I’ll randomly flip open to find a passage that may be exactly what I need to read and a few others.

8)  It is imperative that _________________ be made into a movie. Now. I am already picketing Hollywood for this—but if they cast _________________ as _________________, I will not be happy. I will, however, be appeased if they cast _________________.

Another one that is hard – I cannot come up with a book that should be made into a movie.

9)  _________________ is a book that should never be made (or should have never been made) into a film.

Last hard one – shouldn’t squelch anyone’s artistic voice as far as literature and film goes.

10)  After all these years, the _body bag of her friend in school_ scene in the movie _Nightmare on Elm Street_ still manages to give me the queebs.

11)  After all these years, the _final scene in The Color Purple_ still manages to give me a thrill. To see Celie “meet” her children after all that happens, I cannot help but be filled with hope and joy and purple.

12)  If I could corner the author _Alice Walker_, here’s what I’d say to her one minute or less about her books : somehow, someway, I relate to so much of what you write about. The spiritual journey is somehow familiar and I don’t want to know why, but I do want you to know that it reaches across so many misunderstood lines to me.

13)  The coolest non-fiction book I’ve ever read is The Impossible Will Take a Little While: A Citizen’s Guide to Hope in a Time of Fear by Paul Rogat Loeb. Every time I flip through it, it makes me want to save the world with my mighty pen and voice. I can, you know, and so can you.