Such stuff as dreams are made on
I've had a couple of vivid dreams the past couple days. The one from yesterday entailed my family taking me to an eighth grade class reunion. At least, that's what I assume it was as they comprised most of the guest list. My family mysteriously disappeared from the dream after we arrived and they presumably went to get refreshments. I mostly walked around talking to everybody, noticing how some people returned automatically to the few people they'd spent time with at St. Matt's. I tried not to stick to one group and keep moving. I ended up either holding or carrying some stuff briefly for Adolph while we talked and he did something requiring his hands. The oddest thing was in the pile of stuff I was holding for him was this sock puppet much like one I'd made when I was much younger. It was a guy's sock with shamrock pattern instead of a girl's, there was no tongue, and the two buttons were both orange instead of one orange and one pink, but it was essentially identical. I ended up holding it when I gave the rest of the boxes and such back to him. When I ran into him again a bit later, I held it out to him and mentioned how similar it was to mine. He just looked at it cynically and told me I could have it. He left and that was the end of the dream.
I remember from Beyond Biofeedback back at OWjL when we did meditative techniques and we were supposed to receive objects from our inner selves. I don't think it ever worked for me because I kept thinking of different objects that would be symbolic to me rather than actually falling into a state where I would receive an object by my subconscious, but I remember that one girl did really manage to receive an object. That object turned out to be an orange. Yes, an orange as in the fruit. She was confused to no end. So am I by the sock puppet that I haven't played with much in years -- or ever really -- suddenly making this appearance. Adolph too, whom I have seen a total of once for twenty seconds since eighth grade. What on earth could they symbolize?
I had another vivid dream today, longer this time although it was only during my hour and a half nap between English and chemistry. (I love Tuesdays.) Since I was still pleasantly drifting in a sort of wistfulness when I arrived at chemistry, I spent the period composing the dream into poetry, as I did once last year in Creative Writing. I'm not sure it's as clear or as lyrically beautiful as that particular poem, which I haven't read in months (another reason for me to pick up that notebook when I journey home), but my frame of mind was much the same. Be warned that this is long and full of Emily Dickinson style dashes and for that reason lies behind the cut.
This was my last day in this place.
The events were unfolding with a methodical precision -
Like the well-known fairy-tale - with no details that
Do not return in the story -
I had experienced the chain before.
I knew what was going to happen in the end.
And so the details remained unchanged
But my mind - my feelings - were different
I heard a child’s voice in my head - mine -
“Every time I hear the story,
I have more compassion for him.
I understand him better.” -
The revelation was like the ripples a boat leaves
As it floats through water on clear mornings -
Tranquil, soft, beautiful -
When I took the phone, I was not afraid
Of the transformation of their ring -
A quiet joy in the wonder of the magic -
The new sensations for the short time -
Before -
They asked me to remove my cross and
Put their necklace on. I refused and
Knew that I had done so before -
Differently this time, though -
Not defiant - peaceful -
The strength of water smoothing pebbles in the river -
They acquiesced - no challenge -
An interlude - A car drove to a man’s house - pulled up to the curb -
He collected frools - The driver sneered at him -
No one collected frools! - Compassion sprung from me
For this man, even as I knew
The frools would be there at the end.
The return - a girl, their servant, was there with me -
She delivered the instructions. This time, however -
Understanding in the face of my strength -
She had been with me before.
This time, there was no hysteria, no animosity between us.
As the memory returned to me - “The diary
Comes next, doesn’t it?” - glee - she confirmed, smiled gently.
I could not help hugging my sister, but
She had no objection. As she left -
This was the last time! - We stood together
To read the loving words.
The end lay patiently waiting - gentleman Time obliged us.
HE was waiting too - in the corner with the burgundy fence -
It would be no less ferocious this time -
The second time - but - somehow -
It would not be so terrible.
Somehow - I understood HIM -
And in that moment - I understood -
Myself -
And no, I have no more idea than you what a frool is. Apparently, it's some sort of collectible -- I got the impression of something about the size of a Mr. Potato Head -- that either can be transformed into a weapon somehow or otherwise be used as an object of psychological torture due to some memory a la the Black Rose Saga of Utena. Yeesh, I never want to try unraveling my unconscious. It's creepy in there . . .
I remember from Beyond Biofeedback back at OWjL when we did meditative techniques and we were supposed to receive objects from our inner selves. I don't think it ever worked for me because I kept thinking of different objects that would be symbolic to me rather than actually falling into a state where I would receive an object by my subconscious, but I remember that one girl did really manage to receive an object. That object turned out to be an orange. Yes, an orange as in the fruit. She was confused to no end. So am I by the sock puppet that I haven't played with much in years -- or ever really -- suddenly making this appearance. Adolph too, whom I have seen a total of once for twenty seconds since eighth grade. What on earth could they symbolize?
I had another vivid dream today, longer this time although it was only during my hour and a half nap between English and chemistry. (I love Tuesdays.) Since I was still pleasantly drifting in a sort of wistfulness when I arrived at chemistry, I spent the period composing the dream into poetry, as I did once last year in Creative Writing. I'm not sure it's as clear or as lyrically beautiful as that particular poem, which I haven't read in months (another reason for me to pick up that notebook when I journey home), but my frame of mind was much the same. Be warned that this is long and full of Emily Dickinson style dashes and for that reason lies behind the cut.
This was my last day in this place.
The events were unfolding with a methodical precision -
Like the well-known fairy-tale - with no details that
Do not return in the story -
I had experienced the chain before.
I knew what was going to happen in the end.
And so the details remained unchanged
But my mind - my feelings - were different
I heard a child’s voice in my head - mine -
“Every time I hear the story,
I have more compassion for him.
I understand him better.” -
The revelation was like the ripples a boat leaves
As it floats through water on clear mornings -
Tranquil, soft, beautiful -
When I took the phone, I was not afraid
Of the transformation of their ring -
A quiet joy in the wonder of the magic -
The new sensations for the short time -
Before -
They asked me to remove my cross and
Put their necklace on. I refused and
Knew that I had done so before -
Differently this time, though -
Not defiant - peaceful -
The strength of water smoothing pebbles in the river -
They acquiesced - no challenge -
An interlude - A car drove to a man’s house - pulled up to the curb -
He collected frools - The driver sneered at him -
No one collected frools! - Compassion sprung from me
For this man, even as I knew
The frools would be there at the end.
The return - a girl, their servant, was there with me -
She delivered the instructions. This time, however -
Understanding in the face of my strength -
She had been with me before.
This time, there was no hysteria, no animosity between us.
As the memory returned to me - “The diary
Comes next, doesn’t it?” - glee - she confirmed, smiled gently.
I could not help hugging my sister, but
She had no objection. As she left -
This was the last time! - We stood together
To read the loving words.
The end lay patiently waiting - gentleman Time obliged us.
HE was waiting too - in the corner with the burgundy fence -
It would be no less ferocious this time -
The second time - but - somehow -
It would not be so terrible.
Somehow - I understood HIM -
And in that moment - I understood -
Myself -
And no, I have no more idea than you what a frool is. Apparently, it's some sort of collectible -- I got the impression of something about the size of a Mr. Potato Head -- that either can be transformed into a weapon somehow or otherwise be used as an object of psychological torture due to some memory a la the Black Rose Saga of Utena. Yeesh, I never want to try unraveling my unconscious. It's creepy in there . . .