(no subject)
i liked it better when i couldn't remember my dreams.
i'm on a ship. i don't know what kind of ship, but i don't know ships in general. i'm at the prow (the front?) just enjoying sailing and the view (which i can't remember) and wherever we're going; just enjoying myself. we sail into this part of the ocean where it alternates with really deep parts where the boat can pass through and really shallow parts where it's only two or so feet deep, sandbars, where these people are standing digging for things. i think they're looking for clams and shellfish. i think. this one woman looks right at me and she holds out a baby and we make an exchange. i'm not sure what i give her for the baby, but i know i give her something back. the lady is distinctly asian looking, my mind keeps repeating chinese and my mind would know the difference by now so i guess she was chinese. the baby was caucasian, not just because he was pale, but he had these big round eyes. i can't remember what colour they were. the baby and i, on this ship with whoever else is on it, keep doing these huge loops around the woman and the people working in the water and she keeps waving us off. not frantically, but in a "go, just go" manner and another man starts to do the same. as she's growing smaller in the distance (we finally finish circling her), she yells after me to "take care of the child". the word filho is still ringing in my head. filho is portuguese, not the word for boy but the word for son. i'm not sure who he is the son of. i look up and see the city for the first time, an urban island in the middle of all these sandbars, and it looks so miniature. all the buildings have blue glass windows, and the ones that are not all windows are made of a deep red stone. it's beautiful, but foreign and i can't place it. i see this building, the london bullet, but in red. i remember being confused.
so i start sailing with this baby and for a while we're sailing on this ship. i can't remember for how long. things start fading in and out.
my next clear memory consists of the baby, the boy, and i floating in a huge bucket in the ocean. we keep passing all these huge industrial barges and oil rigs set up in the ocean and all these security men and military personnel are watching us float by. there are thousands of people lined up and standing in boats we kept floating by, and they're all wearing rags and really disheveled looking but not entirely miserable looking. they're just waiting. i remember being anxious, wondering if they were going to pull us out of the water and make us go somewhere we didn't want to go. they just laughed at us, though, even more so when we float by some wreckage/garbage and i manage to pull a baby doll from within it and that becomes the boy's first toy. it's the first time i see his face, because he looks right at me with such wonder that i can't help but smile back. i wish i could remember the colour of his eyes. i guess we were happy in the bucket. i remember his laughter and his silly baby-isms: he would either lean forward or lean back and dunk his head in the water and i'd get all flustered and tell him to be careful and not to do that because he couldn't swim or even know what to do with his head underwater. he would just laugh at me, but i know it wasn't cruel laughter. it was that light, free baby laughter, where they're so delighted you're there and they're having fun. i remember him being an easy baby, a gracious baby. lots of smiles and young child awe.
things start fading again. i woke up several times this morning but i can't remember if i woke up in the middle of the dream and then went back into it or not. it wasn't disorienting, though, strangely enough.
a lot of time has passed. we're not in our bucket anymore. i don't even think we're on a ship. we're in a long line of people and i suddenly realize as we've been floating along in the ocean that there have been these long lines of people at every rig and industrial factory thing. these buildings are all metal and clean lines and they don't look intimidating, they're just ugly. brown and grey and black against the ocean, of course they're not attractive. but now we're in the middle of one of these lines, me and the boy, the filho. i don't think we're stressed out, or angry, or confused, just tired. he's older now, much older. i want to guess around 3-5 years old, just because of how big he is. i know he can stand and walk on his own, but i'm still holding him balanced on my hip. i want to keep him close. there's this other boy in line in front of us with his mother who is holding him up against his shoulder and he just sort of hangs there. this other boy is tired looking, exhausted looking. our boys do not interact. the line starts to move but the lady in front of us and her boy do not until something snaps in the dream, rubber band like, and her son is standing on the ground instead and so is my boy. they're facing each other and the other boy's mother is calling for him, she's suddenly a level or two above us and there's nothing but empty space in front of us.
she keeps calling his name. "michelle". not american-girl michele, but italian michele. mi-kehl-leh. "come on, michele, come on, the line is moving." she keeps goading him to join her, to catch up to her, but he's just standing there. that's when i join in with the bargaining. my boy is just standing there, watching him. neither of the children are saying anything or moving forward. i'm not sure if there are people behind us, but i know i just wanted to move up the line. "michele, both micheles, come on! the lines moving now, so let's go~ we don't want to get left behind~" now, awake, i realize that i had just called the filho michele as well. michele was his name, and suddenly i cannot think of him as anything else besides michele or the boy or the filho. the boys still don't move until finally there is another rubber band dream snap and the other michele - the boy that is not mine, with me, a darker boy - just lurches forward as if he's about to fall. he slumps against the filho who turns and looks at me and he doesn't say anything but his eyes are big and sad and ask what do i do? what can i do?.
i try to maneuver the filho away from the other michele, try to pick the other woman's michele up, trying to push him away from my boy because suddenly i don't want him there. the last place i want this other boy is hanging on my boy like that, in a lethargic way, a sick way. when i push the other michele by the shoulder he looks up at me from the corner of his eye but there are no eyes there, just these huge pits of darkness that are consuming his face and a hole opens up where the other michele's mouth should be and blood gushes out onto my michele's shirt. we both stand shocked. the other boy staggers and slips off my boy's shoulders and hits the ground with this wet thud and he's convulsing, blood still pouring from his mouth. his mother is screaming, but she's three levels above us by now. i grab my boy by the arm and yank him forward, away from the mess, and to an alcove in the line where there's a water fountain. "wash," i urge him, "you must wash, you must wash!" i'm splashing him with water and scrubbing the blood off his legs and his face. i realize that my boy has grown older, then. what i had thought was a 3-5 year old boy now looks to be anywhere from 10-13. he's taller now, but not tall, even though he is a skinny boy that looks to be all wiry limbs. he is that shy quiet boy, awkward before puberty, but so entirely beautiful. he has collapsed on his knees as i am trying to wash the blood off him, and he won't stop looking at his hands. he is shaking, he is horrified, but he doesn't cry. he doesn't make a sound. there is so much blood i'm beginning to wonder if any of it is his, but it's not.
as i'm washing him, a lady comes out of nowhere (meaning: she was not in line with us, but neither is she in military uniform) and grabs the other michele by the throat. this woman slams the boys body into a wall. something bursts. maybe it's his head. there is blood everywhere. when the body falls to the ground she has something huge and red in her hands and my first instinct is his heart but that doesn't feel right. it's too big, it has too many things connecting it to his body. the people around us are vomiting blood - not in an infected way, but because of the carnage they're seeing; i don't know why it's blood. this woman rips it to shreds with her bare hands, it explodes, bursts, and rains blood. but we don't trust this woman, we don't feel as if this woman has saved us. we are just as terrified of her as we are of the boy with his black holes for eyes and his empty black pit for a mouth. she is tearing his body to shreds. i remember her looking wild and looking strong, out of control brown-black hair and long limbs and pointed fingers. i'm screaming at my michele to wash, to get the blood off him as quickly as he can, but he's still on the ground staring at his hands. as if this is all his fault. i remember ordering him to spit or throw up or something, just to get a badness out. i cup water in my hands and tilt his chin up to wash the blood off his face and he stares up at me.
and then i wake up and i can't remember the colour of his eyes.
i've been awake for a while now, but this dream has set me on edge. the first thing i did when i woke up was to put a big hoodie on, because i felt cold and naked. then i went and sat before my mirror in the corner of my room and pressed my fingers to the glass and just stared at myself, relearned how to breathe. then i went to brush my teeth.
i remember shipping routes, maps, city scapes. it's when i try to draw them that they escape me.
Latin Michaelem
Hebrew Mi-Kha'El, composed of words mi (who), kha (how) and El, short form of Elohìm, God
who is like god
archangel michael - field commander of the army of god
one of the chief princes
healer, patron of war, saint of chivalry
oceans - state of emotions/feelings. spiritual renewal. unlimited. sailing is new found independence and freedom. courage. handling the ups and downs.
sailing - handling problems. in control of life.
bucket - empty: overcoming a loss or conflict.
military - rigid authority, emotional repression.
asia - seeing an asian person: aspect of self that is unknown. elderly asian person: tradition, wisdom, knowledge.
babies - vulnerable, helpless, uncorrupted. finding a baby: acknowledging hidden potential. dead baby: end of something that was a part of you. dipping a baby in water: regression.
doll - playing with: lack of communication between conscious and unconscious mind.
blood - others bleeding: emotional cry for help.
black eyes - no pupiles, irises or whites. believed by some to be a creature that sneaks into dreams and mean you great harm. will want you to do something. ie: if takes form of a cat, may want to sit in your lap. does not show black eyes until the end.
ughhhhhhhhhhhh i can't do this. this has been bothering me all day.
i'm on a ship. i don't know what kind of ship, but i don't know ships in general. i'm at the prow (the front?) just enjoying sailing and the view (which i can't remember) and wherever we're going; just enjoying myself. we sail into this part of the ocean where it alternates with really deep parts where the boat can pass through and really shallow parts where it's only two or so feet deep, sandbars, where these people are standing digging for things. i think they're looking for clams and shellfish. i think. this one woman looks right at me and she holds out a baby and we make an exchange. i'm not sure what i give her for the baby, but i know i give her something back. the lady is distinctly asian looking, my mind keeps repeating chinese and my mind would know the difference by now so i guess she was chinese. the baby was caucasian, not just because he was pale, but he had these big round eyes. i can't remember what colour they were. the baby and i, on this ship with whoever else is on it, keep doing these huge loops around the woman and the people working in the water and she keeps waving us off. not frantically, but in a "go, just go" manner and another man starts to do the same. as she's growing smaller in the distance (we finally finish circling her), she yells after me to "take care of the child". the word filho is still ringing in my head. filho is portuguese, not the word for boy but the word for son. i'm not sure who he is the son of. i look up and see the city for the first time, an urban island in the middle of all these sandbars, and it looks so miniature. all the buildings have blue glass windows, and the ones that are not all windows are made of a deep red stone. it's beautiful, but foreign and i can't place it. i see this building, the london bullet, but in red. i remember being confused.
so i start sailing with this baby and for a while we're sailing on this ship. i can't remember for how long. things start fading in and out.
my next clear memory consists of the baby, the boy, and i floating in a huge bucket in the ocean. we keep passing all these huge industrial barges and oil rigs set up in the ocean and all these security men and military personnel are watching us float by. there are thousands of people lined up and standing in boats we kept floating by, and they're all wearing rags and really disheveled looking but not entirely miserable looking. they're just waiting. i remember being anxious, wondering if they were going to pull us out of the water and make us go somewhere we didn't want to go. they just laughed at us, though, even more so when we float by some wreckage/garbage and i manage to pull a baby doll from within it and that becomes the boy's first toy. it's the first time i see his face, because he looks right at me with such wonder that i can't help but smile back. i wish i could remember the colour of his eyes. i guess we were happy in the bucket. i remember his laughter and his silly baby-isms: he would either lean forward or lean back and dunk his head in the water and i'd get all flustered and tell him to be careful and not to do that because he couldn't swim or even know what to do with his head underwater. he would just laugh at me, but i know it wasn't cruel laughter. it was that light, free baby laughter, where they're so delighted you're there and they're having fun. i remember him being an easy baby, a gracious baby. lots of smiles and young child awe.
things start fading again. i woke up several times this morning but i can't remember if i woke up in the middle of the dream and then went back into it or not. it wasn't disorienting, though, strangely enough.
a lot of time has passed. we're not in our bucket anymore. i don't even think we're on a ship. we're in a long line of people and i suddenly realize as we've been floating along in the ocean that there have been these long lines of people at every rig and industrial factory thing. these buildings are all metal and clean lines and they don't look intimidating, they're just ugly. brown and grey and black against the ocean, of course they're not attractive. but now we're in the middle of one of these lines, me and the boy, the filho. i don't think we're stressed out, or angry, or confused, just tired. he's older now, much older. i want to guess around 3-5 years old, just because of how big he is. i know he can stand and walk on his own, but i'm still holding him balanced on my hip. i want to keep him close. there's this other boy in line in front of us with his mother who is holding him up against his shoulder and he just sort of hangs there. this other boy is tired looking, exhausted looking. our boys do not interact. the line starts to move but the lady in front of us and her boy do not until something snaps in the dream, rubber band like, and her son is standing on the ground instead and so is my boy. they're facing each other and the other boy's mother is calling for him, she's suddenly a level or two above us and there's nothing but empty space in front of us.
she keeps calling his name. "michelle". not american-girl michele, but italian michele. mi-kehl-leh. "come on, michele, come on, the line is moving." she keeps goading him to join her, to catch up to her, but he's just standing there. that's when i join in with the bargaining. my boy is just standing there, watching him. neither of the children are saying anything or moving forward. i'm not sure if there are people behind us, but i know i just wanted to move up the line. "michele, both micheles, come on! the lines moving now, so let's go~ we don't want to get left behind~" now, awake, i realize that i had just called the filho michele as well. michele was his name, and suddenly i cannot think of him as anything else besides michele or the boy or the filho. the boys still don't move until finally there is another rubber band dream snap and the other michele - the boy that is not mine, with me, a darker boy - just lurches forward as if he's about to fall. he slumps against the filho who turns and looks at me and he doesn't say anything but his eyes are big and sad and ask what do i do? what can i do?.
i try to maneuver the filho away from the other michele, try to pick the other woman's michele up, trying to push him away from my boy because suddenly i don't want him there. the last place i want this other boy is hanging on my boy like that, in a lethargic way, a sick way. when i push the other michele by the shoulder he looks up at me from the corner of his eye but there are no eyes there, just these huge pits of darkness that are consuming his face and a hole opens up where the other michele's mouth should be and blood gushes out onto my michele's shirt. we both stand shocked. the other boy staggers and slips off my boy's shoulders and hits the ground with this wet thud and he's convulsing, blood still pouring from his mouth. his mother is screaming, but she's three levels above us by now. i grab my boy by the arm and yank him forward, away from the mess, and to an alcove in the line where there's a water fountain. "wash," i urge him, "you must wash, you must wash!" i'm splashing him with water and scrubbing the blood off his legs and his face. i realize that my boy has grown older, then. what i had thought was a 3-5 year old boy now looks to be anywhere from 10-13. he's taller now, but not tall, even though he is a skinny boy that looks to be all wiry limbs. he is that shy quiet boy, awkward before puberty, but so entirely beautiful. he has collapsed on his knees as i am trying to wash the blood off him, and he won't stop looking at his hands. he is shaking, he is horrified, but he doesn't cry. he doesn't make a sound. there is so much blood i'm beginning to wonder if any of it is his, but it's not.
as i'm washing him, a lady comes out of nowhere (meaning: she was not in line with us, but neither is she in military uniform) and grabs the other michele by the throat. this woman slams the boys body into a wall. something bursts. maybe it's his head. there is blood everywhere. when the body falls to the ground she has something huge and red in her hands and my first instinct is his heart but that doesn't feel right. it's too big, it has too many things connecting it to his body. the people around us are vomiting blood - not in an infected way, but because of the carnage they're seeing; i don't know why it's blood. this woman rips it to shreds with her bare hands, it explodes, bursts, and rains blood. but we don't trust this woman, we don't feel as if this woman has saved us. we are just as terrified of her as we are of the boy with his black holes for eyes and his empty black pit for a mouth. she is tearing his body to shreds. i remember her looking wild and looking strong, out of control brown-black hair and long limbs and pointed fingers. i'm screaming at my michele to wash, to get the blood off him as quickly as he can, but he's still on the ground staring at his hands. as if this is all his fault. i remember ordering him to spit or throw up or something, just to get a badness out. i cup water in my hands and tilt his chin up to wash the blood off his face and he stares up at me.
and then i wake up and i can't remember the colour of his eyes.
i've been awake for a while now, but this dream has set me on edge. the first thing i did when i woke up was to put a big hoodie on, because i felt cold and naked. then i went and sat before my mirror in the corner of my room and pressed my fingers to the glass and just stared at myself, relearned how to breathe. then i went to brush my teeth.
i remember shipping routes, maps, city scapes. it's when i try to draw them that they escape me.
Latin Michaelem
Hebrew Mi-Kha'El, composed of words mi (who), kha (how) and El, short form of Elohìm, God
who is like god
archangel michael - field commander of the army of god
one of the chief princes
healer, patron of war, saint of chivalry
oceans - state of emotions/feelings. spiritual renewal. unlimited. sailing is new found independence and freedom. courage. handling the ups and downs.
sailing - handling problems. in control of life.
bucket - empty: overcoming a loss or conflict.
military - rigid authority, emotional repression.
asia - seeing an asian person: aspect of self that is unknown. elderly asian person: tradition, wisdom, knowledge.
babies - vulnerable, helpless, uncorrupted. finding a baby: acknowledging hidden potential. dead baby: end of something that was a part of you. dipping a baby in water: regression.
doll - playing with: lack of communication between conscious and unconscious mind.
blood - others bleeding: emotional cry for help.
black eyes - no pupiles, irises or whites. believed by some to be a creature that sneaks into dreams and mean you great harm. will want you to do something. ie: if takes form of a cat, may want to sit in your lap. does not show black eyes until the end.
ughhhhhhhhhhhh i can't do this. this has been bothering me all day.