tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165794162024-03-07T11:47:26.661-05:00Hidden RoomsHidden rooms are the places in our minds where dreams and fantasies occur. Or the places we go when we dream. These are my dreams and my dreamwork. Ever since my computer died and I lost everything, I am looking for ways to preserve and retain my work.Mary Stebbins Taitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10626507461216769140noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-37024369186298990662017-06-30T12:17:00.003-04:002017-06-30T12:17:51.333-04:00The Dark Party, the Missing Partner, and My Unfamiliar Face<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9cEiTH7JLruqnSzNBeAprKJI_ufEICkUCyF2jqyF8qga6-58i1Op4IWNl81-ewOlN5xDWCQ5LU05oIbXXpvZTI760lFgPA9PwTGUi-bouSqTEtZtHSG-HQZXzs-z5CFFDa8us/s1600/owl+great+horned+black2+6-30-2017+11-40-27+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1131" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9cEiTH7JLruqnSzNBeAprKJI_ufEICkUCyF2jqyF8qga6-58i1Op4IWNl81-ewOlN5xDWCQ5LU05oIbXXpvZTI760lFgPA9PwTGUi-bouSqTEtZtHSG-HQZXzs-z5CFFDa8us/s400/owl+great+horned+black2+6-30-2017+11-40-27+AM.jpg" width="282" /></a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGuHyxsP6Lk7ejYDgW9FGU_Yvo88cKP6rxQZkVtePmD0b0MUSc7wAlFA1ocGQ21WABqLVKnpWyav2M1Vju-k02thg2fGkJnvQ1H2D8qR5apSehr1ckVG-_8i8Pp_9sqCsjOuw/s1600/man+from+dream+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1064" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGuHyxsP6Lk7ejYDgW9FGU_Yvo88cKP6rxQZkVtePmD0b0MUSc7wAlFA1ocGQ21WABqLVKnpWyav2M1Vju-k02thg2fGkJnvQ1H2D8qR5apSehr1ckVG-_8i8Pp_9sqCsjOuw/s400/man+from+dream+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Dark Party,
the Missing Partner, and My Unfamiliar Face</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am at a party. At first it is light, then it's very dark &
there are no lights except for small candles. It's difficult to see people. I
have a partner. He is a dark-skinned man, maybe Hispanic, not African-American,
tall, black hair, reasonably attractive, somewhat severe looking, but he seems
to like me. We hang out at this party and talk and walk around and listen to
music and eat some of the food and just be together and act like we like each
other to some extent. This goes on for quite some time and it's relatively
pleasant. I am considering whether I want to extend our relationship further.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I use the bathroom or something, so that in some way, I've become
separated from my partner and when I return to where he was, he's not there and
I spend the whole rest of the dream looking for him. It goes on and on and on.
I go around this large party to many rooms and outdoor activities looking for
this man, over and over. I ask people again and again where he is; I never find
him. I'm looking for him and I'm sad. I wonder about myself, whether I am
worthy or unworthy, whether I'm pretty enough or if I'm nice enough. I look in
a mirror and remember that I've lost weight and I look pretty in the mirror. My
hair is wavy, like I have a permanent and is somewhat long-ish, and curls
around my face. My face is thinner than usual and even my nose is thinner. I
look significantly younger. I look like myself and somehow like a different
person as well. Contemplating my face in the mirror, and how it differs from my
current face in my waking life, I wake up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What does this
remind you of?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One of the many books that I'm currently reading is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Imperfect Birds</i>, by Anne LaMott. In this
book, teenage Rosy and her friends go to a number of parties that are dark and
are there wandering around with various new partners and so on in the dark
having various experiences. It reminds me of myself, not at their age, they're
17 years old, but at the age when I was doing things like that, which was
closer to 19, 20 etc.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was also reminded of those days when I had a long conversation
with the artist, Tim Burke, at Rainy Day yesterday. He told me stories about
his own misadventures as a young man, and I told him a few of mine that were
similar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I often worry about getting separated from Keith by either death
or one of us finding another partner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If I were reincarnated as a new person and looked different from
what I look like in this life, would I still be me? What would make me be me?
Is the me that I am now the same me that I was when I was 19? There is
certainly continuity, or the problems from then would not still be haunting me.
(Major question, see below) But I am also different in so many ways that I am
almost a different person--and yet, I am also the same in many ways. It is
strange to consider the continuity, similarities and differences between who I
was and who I am (emotionally and personality-wise). Physically, besides being
MUCH fatter and older, my nose is larger and wider than it used to be. (Like in
the dream.). My parents' noses got bigger as they aged.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Who is the dark man in the dream? He does not look or feel like
Keith or any other partner I have had. I do NOT WANT another partner. I am
happy with Keith and want to keep him. I wonder why the man is dark. Could he
be Death and if so, why would I be looking for him?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Does the darkness during most of the dream represent those things
I do not have answers to those answers for which I search? Or does it represent
the encroaching darkness of confusion and senility? Am I, like my mother, going
to descend into dementia and will Keith then become the dark, lost man, lost to
me because of my confusion? The wandering in the darkness would then make
sense, (as would the endless asking).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The permanent my hair had in the dream (if that’s what it was)
reminds me of the two times I had permanents, once I was no longer a small
child and made my own choices;</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I was in junior high, I wore my hair in braids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I graduated from eighth grade and was
about to enter 9<sup>th</sup>, I was told by all my friends that I should get
rid of the braids and cut and curl my hair. I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a perm. I hated it and grew it out
again. I was 14.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Bruce was having an affair with Debbie, but was still living
with me, I had long hair I sometimes wore in braids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I wanted to win him back and that
he liked Debbie because she was thinner and had curly hair, so I went on a diet
and cut my hair and got a perm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hated
it and grew it back. I was 34.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Major question from above</span></u><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: can I heal from abuse and sexual abuse and
move on with my life (and possibly find deep contentment) and if so, how? What
steps can I take to heal and improve this aspect of my life? Are there any
answers to these questions???????</span></div>
Mary Stebbins Taitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10626507461216769140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-64637061787630102372015-09-19T18:36:00.001-04:002015-09-19T18:37:41.791-04:00Lion Confrontation and the Gelatin Hockey-Puck Gift<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8PjP1YeVCZBrWA6_qFo4SJtr2OsGFeAeJwtu9fegfE-CxuXyTaZA8IX_YjFWAsIwBtXL0K61hcyAsP1410BXX20LXqK5MKro0bIjOLOFQ0caTiuFSI3NfkuFSvl-y2mrqD8-/s1600/Lion+Painting+3245-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8PjP1YeVCZBrWA6_qFo4SJtr2OsGFeAeJwtu9fegfE-CxuXyTaZA8IX_YjFWAsIwBtXL0K61hcyAsP1410BXX20LXqK5MKro0bIjOLOFQ0caTiuFSI3NfkuFSvl-y2mrqD8-/s400/Lion+Painting+3245-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lion from dream<br />
mixed media<br />
soft pastels and acrylic<br />
click image to view larger</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Lion Confrontation
and the Gelatin Hockey-Puck Gift<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am with a group of people that includes Sara and Erin at a
wild animal Park with free-ranging wild animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are on foot, not in expedition
vehicles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leave the group briefly to
climb to the top of a large hill, and from there, I see below me a huge maned lion
chasing a wildebeest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are 4 or 5
wildebeests running ahead, but he has his eye on one and as the other veer off
to the sides, he follows the one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
lion and the wildebeest are running from my right to my left, approaching me at
an angle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, another lion appears
from the left and rears up, roaring, confronting the first lion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wildebeest escapes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realize how close they both are and am
frightened and run down the hill to where the others are to warn them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am afraid, but the tour guide and others
seem to think we are safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That the hill
between us protects us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We continue our conversation and at some point later, I show
Sara and Erin that I have this hockey-puck-shaped gelatin block with which I am
going to make a gift for Alden. Saturday, September 19, 2015<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What does this remind
you of?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
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First, the dream was very long and complex and I feel sad
that I can only remember such a small part of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am, of course, much sadder that I am missing Alden’s
babyhood, Frankie’s childhood, and the other three grandchildren, too. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I were rich enough and healthy enough
to travel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">much</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more frequently</i> to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">see the
grandchildren</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And Sara and Erin et
al!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I wish we weren’t estranged
from the other three grandchildren. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that female lions normally do the hunting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I dream most often of male lions,
and they seem very threatening and scary in my dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may dream of male lions because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I am afraid of</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">men</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially roaring
(angry) men.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When I was hiking alone in Colorado, at one point, I came
out on the top of a cliff and looked down into a marshy wetland and saw a
grizzly bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had read about female
hikers being mauled and killed by grizzlies and was a little worried and
fearful. The cliff I was on was not very tall, maybe fifteen feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was however, very steep, vertical, and I
knew the grizzly bear could not climb it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I also knew from experience that is it often possible to climb around a
cliff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the bear paid no
attention to me and continued on its way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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If I were in a shamanic frame of mind, I might consider the
lion(s) to be “spirit guide(s)” with something to tell or teach me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday, I went a field trip with my Japanese woodblock
printing class to see an exhibit of prints at the Lawrence Street Gallery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were some gelatin prints there and I
told Lori and Joan that I had considered buying gelatin plates to make
monoprints at Utrech when I was there with Sam and Joan (and other times).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the exhibit, there were books handmade
from prints, and I told Joan and Lori that that was why I had originally signed
up for the printmaking class, besides thinking it would be fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I could maybe make children’s books
with woodblock prints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no idea,
never having taken a class in woodblock printing, how complex the process
was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cindy and Lori both take a YEAR to
make a single print.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would totally
not be conducive to making gift books, which would need a number of prints.
(Maybe potato prints would work better!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Also, yesterday, I picked up a circular piece of plywood upon which I
considered making a painting to go with the others I have tentatively made for
Alden (which need to be framed.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Which brings me to the topic of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">guilt</i>, I wanted to make books and art for Frankie and Alden, but I
have so many ongoing projects and there’s been such upheaval in our lives that
I haven’t been able to complete any in quite some time (including one from two
years ago that is partly done, Frankie goes to France, Italy, the Pinery,
Welcome Home Alden, New Kid, The Welcome Home generic, and one I started for
Gail that was supposed to be for last Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a version of one I made for Frankie,
but I wanted to include the new painting, since I finished the painting—I only
need to clear the gutter and upload it. And then there are a number of kids’
books I’ve written and thought I shouldn’t do until I finished the others.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I feel sad and guilty.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Once a project gets on the back burner, it’s difficult to
pull it forward again. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I’m immersed in my current projects,
such as carving the blocks for my Japanese woodblock printing class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which I’m having insufficient time to work on
because of my novel and the other things going on in our lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Speaking of guilt, I got to bed later last night than I
intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since it was early, and I
didn’t get a story, I read a chapter of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Forest Lover</i>, by Susan Vreeland, which I am loving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I read a chapter of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How to Fix your Novel</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was only going to read one chapter, and go
to bed, because I was feeling utterly exhausted, but the chapter was short and
I continued reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read three chapters,
and of course, that book has assignments having to do with the novel you are
currently working on and one of them seemed particularly relevant, so I started
working on it and then next I knew, I was eating (some salami) and working on
my novel and the next thing I knew, it was 11:41.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dropped everything and went to bed, but I’d
meant to go to bed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">early</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for me, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">being in bed does not mean being asleep</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My goal is to get to bed by 10:30 and get up
by 7 AM or earlier, and when I sleep later (or lie in bed later, more like it,
because I am tired, but can’t sleep), I feel guilty that I am wasting
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I feel guilty for going to bed
late, because then I am more likely to get insufficient sleep and waste some of
my morning work time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Speaking of guilt, I was reading a (“stoopid”) article about
type A personalities which said that they are most likely to die of a heart
attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to be a type A
personality!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I don’t want to die at all, I have too much
to do!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re a Type-A Personality if your
to-do list is ever-present (and ever-growing), if, i<span style="color: #373737; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">n
fact, even your to-do lists have to-do lists (or, at the very least, lots of
highlights and annotations). “You know you’re a Type A person when you go over
your to-do list first thing in the morning and you’re multitasking to a
superhuman amount,” says Melissa Heisler, stress-reduction expert and author of
“From Type A to Type Me: How to Stop ‘Doing’ Life and Start Living It.” So use
your affinity for color-coding and list making to your advantage. Capitalize on
your organizational skills to help your non-Type A family members and coworkers
and motivate them to do well without setting unrealistic expectations, says
Ramani Durvasula, Ph.D., licensed clinical psychologist and professor of
psychology. Take charge of planning your next family vacation, volunteer to
head up a new project at work or organize a weekend getaway for your friends.
But maybe, just maybe, learn to delegate some of those action items.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: #002060; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(I
don’t want to do any of those things—I want to organize my novel, my kids’
books, my art, and my love for Keith.)</span><span style="color: #373737; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #373737; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve been keeping color-coded to-do lists for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I feel guilty about doing it and guilty
that I don’t get everything on it done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But there is more on it than anyone could ever do!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I can’t leave anything out!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Except what I finally forget!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It stresses me out and the things I don’t
have on the list also stress me out (like cleaning, for example!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #373737; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #373737; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have other characteristics of a Type-A personality as well, but
I am getting OFF the topic of the dream and have much else I MUST do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-76500611414651971182015-07-29T12:15:00.000-04:002015-07-29T12:24:45.316-04:00Hypnogogics: The Puppet man, blood on the cinch and other images of insomnia<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8trTB8-9rQY0fAaOl5_XCMPjqmqEWdG33YgMdNewWcCjZZY038YSh2yLbdzzZT76-_rcFJqfXtuIS2kRIxso5mVZrdgAD5i-R0TJoiY6aLH4Z_1pUjPO5vS9U239KnFzEuvDqw/s1600/image0-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8trTB8-9rQY0fAaOl5_XCMPjqmqEWdG33YgMdNewWcCjZZY038YSh2yLbdzzZT76-_rcFJqfXtuIS2kRIxso5mVZrdgAD5i-R0TJoiY6aLH4Z_1pUjPO5vS9U239KnFzEuvDqw/s640/image0-002.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puppet man, Scary evil man with sharp teeth<br />
hypnogogic image from last night<br />
watercolor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIBR35maLFvzw5lHqh-YySWt2yBxWI60Sg6zg24VDC06fT4l-VFkbqXELqdGV0GoO2dO6B-kkH0j1hePkngnNf2iaxRNpHNor7P2ZMCYAEZfRBfJtTJQKuD4lUFIMu4mRp4h1_sw/s1600/image1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIBR35maLFvzw5lHqh-YySWt2yBxWI60Sg6zg24VDC06fT4l-VFkbqXELqdGV0GoO2dO6B-kkH0j1hePkngnNf2iaxRNpHNor7P2ZMCYAEZfRBfJtTJQKuD4lUFIMu4mRp4h1_sw/s400/image1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blood on the cinch<br />
Hypnogogic image from last night<br />
watercolor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzz3ttCQUuhAmy7H-UYNte-eL4twMLx5DXZMH-I71JKRzYhbdzZPRc6Ov0fDSrr-lIWSoeuVT8Tgprqh2iJ6OU8sinkuR04ZtkDWVfQitkIUHoJ540FllB5IscJe56iNjMZyvRlA/s1600/image3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzz3ttCQUuhAmy7H-UYNte-eL4twMLx5DXZMH-I71JKRzYhbdzZPRc6Ov0fDSrr-lIWSoeuVT8Tgprqh2iJ6OU8sinkuR04ZtkDWVfQitkIUHoJ540FllB5IscJe56iNjMZyvRlA/s640/image3.jpg" width="414" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avocado, watch, toll money, jelly jar<br />
oil pastels on textured paper in handmade sketchbook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgrxX58ncR76vK4FDBCEyikRfB21n9uEbuqWcCdV_rkXUTJz_04I42XlCALQuqrvREuiHuJugeZtJW3aAXRlSzsL8wh0M4998R1-pJmf8dNuxuvrz6llmNuGy-vPDX3QiPaBMMA/s1600/image2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgrxX58ncR76vK4FDBCEyikRfB21n9uEbuqWcCdV_rkXUTJz_04I42XlCALQuqrvREuiHuJugeZtJW3aAXRlSzsL8wh0M4998R1-pJmf8dNuxuvrz6llmNuGy-vPDX3QiPaBMMA/s400/image2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insomnia painting/sketch for me<br />
by Heidi Chester<br />
watercolor, oil pastels, colored pencils.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Click any image to view larger.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
(Click the back button to return to story)</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqDxObeU27bYW8FHJ8iH3PDoln2PI1-cAiclPYipDxJJsLCuNGUIjqC5ocPqwOYe6ytstJqP-vZVKt0ejiQ5IwijvM5ghozWUisc98dxDuixzsDxeph1YwiFUStyGNk2PYspTMw/s1600/image0-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqDxObeU27bYW8FHJ8iH3PDoln2PI1-cAiclPYipDxJJsLCuNGUIjqC5ocPqwOYe6ytstJqP-vZVKt0ejiQ5IwijvM5ghozWUisc98dxDuixzsDxeph1YwiFUStyGNk2PYspTMw/s640/image0-001.jpg" width="456" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heidi's bouquet<br />
watercolor, by me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Last night, I suffered from insomnia. This is, unfortunately, fairly common for me, though I've discovered that if I avoid certain foods, I sleep much better. Last night, I did not sleep well at all, and as often happens, I had weird and scary hypnogogic images so bright as to be almost hallucinatory. Those are the first two images. The third I drew ("painted") with oil pastels at the motel when I was awake at night. The fourth image my friend Heidi drew for me in my handmade sketchbook when I was visiting her, and the lsat I painted of her bouquet right before bed. A delayed bedtime, due to doing art.<br />
<br />
In the blood on the cinch painting, I was rubbing blood and a beautiful highly decorative cinch on my horse.merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-22418386037817557882015-07-28T09:19:00.001-04:002015-07-28T09:32:54.566-04:00Beater Mess<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihEUh_nWhp3hwYxmS_xPgJ1stl-yK76pI5qeeIUqFte_YQ8cRipih-Tf8n2T7uUZ5hKdjDaxnb5tt6b_F1o3_pFKBdKLT1iiAfvstdGTEYYum-GB1IQpQSquSvIWw__IVaX4_q/s1600/beaters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihEUh_nWhp3hwYxmS_xPgJ1stl-yK76pI5qeeIUqFte_YQ8cRipih-Tf8n2T7uUZ5hKdjDaxnb5tt6b_F1o3_pFKBdKLT1iiAfvstdGTEYYum-GB1IQpQSquSvIWw__IVaX4_q/s400/beaters.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Beater Mess<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am standing by the front door with a group of children,
nearly ready to leave with them to go someplace when my mother hands me a
beater to lick. It is thickly covered
with super chocolaty batter. One of the
kids bumps me and the beater with its batter falls to the floor, which is
covered with a very new and clean-looking rug.
I immediately pick it up, but a huge amount of batter sticks to the
floor. I say to the milling kids, be
careful not to step in the batter, and one boy comes over and intentionally sticks
his foot in the batter on the rug and then backs up, tracking it to the
door. He stands with his back to the
door wiping batter from his foot on the door.
I am horrified by the mess, guilty and worried about getting it clean
again, but I do nothing about it because I want to get the batter licked off
the beater before I move to try to clean up.
I worry about the kids tracking through the mess and making it
worse. My mother reappears and the mess
is miraculously cleaned up without a trace or stain. I feel relieved but guilty that I didn’t help. Tuesday, July 28, 2015<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>What does this remind
you of?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am reading the book, <i>It
was Me all Along</i>, by Andi Mitchell, about food, over-eating, obesity, which
was given to me by my daughter, Sara, for my birthday. In the opening section, the author describes,
among other things, licking raw cake batter from bowls and beaters. Her mother gives her one to lick. My mother did that too, and of course, I
continued to do that as an adult.
Probably, reading <i>It was Me All
Along</i> yesterday stimulated the dream.
I loved to lick beaters. It’s one
of the reasons I rarely bake anymore, because licking the beaters and the bowl etc.
is <i>so very tempting</i> to me, even if I
am cooking something I shouldn’t eat. A
huge discrepancy exists between what I would like to eat and what it is safe
for me to eat with my allergies, food addictions and health issues.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also have issues around messes, messes I make, and messes
I have to clean. I feel guilty about
making messes and about not keeping things as clean as they “should be,” but I
absolutely hate cleaning; it is one of my least favorite things in the whole
world. (Although I do like things to be reasonably clean, neat and organized,
getting them that way is not my forte.) And
I worry specifically about the expensive cream-colored rugs in our house,
including under the dining-room table! (Seems so weird to have a rug under a
place where people eat!) The amount of
batter on the dream beater was way out of proportion to what a beater could
actually hold. And it kept expanding,
like the amount of anything sweet and chocolaty that I would want to eat if I
ever allowed myself to do so.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the dream, I also felt guilty that I had a beater to lick
and none of the other kids did. That didn’t
seem fair, yet I was unwilling to give it up.
I have guilt about having things that other people don’t have and need,
about not donating money to worthy causes, etc.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The boy who came over and stuck his foot in the batter
reminds of my brother Robert and Graham, their contrariness, of which I have a
large dollop as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
On my recent trip to Syracuse and New Hampshire, I felt
guilty that I did not help more with cooking and finances. Also sad that I lost
time at Heidi’s dealing with the phone.<o:p></o:p></div>
Mary Stebbins Taitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10626507461216769140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-35825171822973037032014-04-26T13:09:00.001-04:002015-07-28T09:32:14.545-04:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZ4___QlFr1yxP95f5xktLlv7jHFZPUQxF_a62mcwxOrUPeQfx5z_6dRF04bwmx2rAoRY4g_eofOCGeVP8530GEDw6Ir9nDAA94dh2LlorOh6x-ZnC8pC4JGWbUA5QvCQDFTi/s1600/The+forest+at+Night+IVd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZ4___QlFr1yxP95f5xktLlv7jHFZPUQxF_a62mcwxOrUPeQfx5z_6dRF04bwmx2rAoRY4g_eofOCGeVP8530GEDw6Ir9nDAA94dh2LlorOh6x-ZnC8pC4JGWbUA5QvCQDFTi/s1600/The+forest+at+Night+IVd.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Forest at Night IV<br />
by me, Mary Stebbins Taitt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>“Ya cain’t get
they-ah from Hee-ah!”<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am going to a personal retreat at a rented cottage that
seems to be (in my mental map) south of Syracuse (Tully, Pompeii?) in the
hills. I am driving my normal little
silver Cruze headed down there, happy and excited. I start feeling a little confused, like I’m
not total sure of the directions, but I think I can find my way there. I come to a construction site and the road is
totally torn up, the pavement is gone. I
consider continuing on the road past the ‘closed” signs until I see ahead huge
earth moving equipment. Then I become a
little nervous about continuing and decide to turn around. It appears from the tracks that other people
have done the same thing and I follow the well-worn tracks of a U-turn that
takes me onto a different road that seems to be heading the way I want to
go. But a little while later, the road
diverges west. I keep turning on other
roads trying to head back south, but every road takes me in the wrong
direction. The next thing I know, I am walking south, determined to get where I
am going. I run into other people also
trying to get to cottages in the same area and we talk about the cooks that
will be preparing our meals. The cooks
are fat. The other people are younger than
I am and walk faster. The trail we are
following takes up over what appears to be a mountain pass. It gets progressively more difficult and
dangerous. The people ahead of me enter
a mass of huge, pointy rocks and boulders.
I follow, but a few minutes later, they return. “You can’t get through?” I ask. “No,” they say. I consider going to look for myself, but they
are younger and fitter than I am, and if they can’t get through, I probably
can’t either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wake up distressed.
Dream, Thursday, April 24, 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Chaparral Pro Light","serif";">How does this make you
feel? What does it remind you of?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Chaparral Pro Light","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I consider going to look for myself, but they are younger
and fitter than I am, and if they can’t get through, I probably can’t
either.” I need to remember that that statement
is not necessarily true—think of climbing Seward, Donaldson and Emmons, when I
was <i>only one</i> out of 26 people, all
younger than me, who made it to the top.
(Speaking of which, a “secret” inner goal of mine is to be able to climb
again, but I feel very discouraged about that happening [which is why it is
secret].)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am feeling confused about where it is that I want to be
going. I want to be healthy (physically,
mentally, emotionally, socially and spiritually), I want to deepen my
relationship with Keith and with Frankie and my kids and I want to publish my
books. I want to be lean. But there is also the feeling of something
deeper. In the dream, I seem to be going
to a personal writing retreat (not an organized one, but one I set up for
myself, like the one at 7<sup>th</sup> Lake.)
But since this dream theme is constantly recurring, I need to explore it
a little. I would like to do some special work on it, including writing and
journeying, as well as talking to Brian and friends).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel as if I need to pick ONE project that is the most
likely to succeed and try to keep it on or very near the front burner until it
is finished. But meanwhile also look at
the trajectory of my life and deep goals and see where I might be failing or
headed wrong, or how I can remove the roadblocks. I also feel that for me, it is OK to work on
more than one project at a time, because they act as mind cleansers and feel
each other and give me a break when I feel mentally exhausted from. But not more than 2 or 3 on the front burners. (A regular stove has four burners, so maybe
that’s a good symbolic analogy-2 on the front burner, two on the back burners,
the rest in the fridge and freezer.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the dream, I feel sad and thwarted. In my phenomenal life, my health, my writing
and other aspects of my life (tidiness, cleaning) seem to meet with one
obstacle after another. Some are
internally generated and some are from outside myself, or seem to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGwikrHEA9ucy8TPc0-kG2B-b3qLkdseceFkDABzgkYuLMdFh_swYczLlR6Ic00N0Rm9LsRkWWvYKm3ejPwdwMegCO8Cqb4xLbY3qoVFL7TG56pQWZ29uHk8WITGDEE0sJq7O8/s1600/The+forest+at+Night+IV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGwikrHEA9ucy8TPc0-kG2B-b3qLkdseceFkDABzgkYuLMdFh_swYczLlR6Ic00N0Rm9LsRkWWvYKm3ejPwdwMegCO8Cqb4xLbY3qoVFL7TG56pQWZ29uHk8WITGDEE0sJq7O8/s1600/The+forest+at+Night+IV.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Forest at Night III<br />
By me, Mary Stebbins Taitt<br />
click to view larger</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Mary Stebbins Taitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10626507461216769140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-42861414540140790832014-04-05T13:22:00.002-04:002014-04-05T13:22:11.304-04:00The Lesson and the Game<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbRcOXelMOC-42-aoX3xJGNBV1W9_1m1JXm6VjnXfiDinz3_hN8iYDjmN0g1bGLYIH5MQ6KnpEYRBAjmue8U5f4g8vW-_BtX6hqBzrHlr-2-joo9p5ne0vXYJuZPG3gnthdHqJbQ/s1600/Leaves+lesson+and+game+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbRcOXelMOC-42-aoX3xJGNBV1W9_1m1JXm6VjnXfiDinz3_hN8iYDjmN0g1bGLYIH5MQ6KnpEYRBAjmue8U5f4g8vW-_BtX6hqBzrHlr-2-joo9p5ne0vXYJuZPG3gnthdHqJbQ/s1600/Leaves+lesson+and+game+b.jpg" height="178" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lesson and the Game<br />
digital composit of images harvested from internet<br />
click image to view larger.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Lesson and the Game<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first round of practice teaching occurs at a mixed-race,
inner-city school. Most of the kids are
black and the teacher is also black and male.
The two student teachers are my friend and classmate, Hank (Henry Phalange)
and me. Hank, biracial, is equally at
home with whites or blacks and can switch speech and mannerisms in the blink of
an eye. I, on the other hand, in spite
of having been here for some time, have trouble making out the speech of some
of the children.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lesson for the day is trees, tree ecology and tree
identification. We study trees in math,
social studies, reading and science. During
science, Mr. Hollinger passes out leaves to each student, and to Hank and me. The
leaves seem to be hand-carved out of ebony or some other dark expensive looking
wood, but they also feel very strong.
Each leaf is on a black chain and can be worn around the neck.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hank’s is an American elm, Mr. Hollinger’s a white ash and mine
a sugar maple. Mr. Hollinger’s looks
fragile, with its separate leaf-lets, but I finger it, and it seems
sturdy. Chantelle has a big-tooth aspen,
Tyrone a cottonwood, Egyptia a red oak, DeShaun a white oak, Jonas an American
beech, Micah a chestnut and so on. We
talk about the characteristics of the trees and walk in the new school arboretum
so that each child can find his or her tree.
We learn three things about each tree, as we go around, and then, when
we stop at the end, the kids each recite the three things about their own tree
and the other kids repeat them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My three things are that we can make maple syrup and candy
from the sugar maple, that they are used as shade trees, and that they are part
of the beech-birch maple hemlock climax forest in this area. Also we say the Latin name, for me, <i>Acer sacharum</i>. I didn’t learn the Latin names of trees until
I got to college, so it seems strange to be teaching them to these kids.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we come back in, the girls in the class are sent next
door to Miss Johanna’s room and her boys are sent to our room. Mr. Hollister pulls down the room-darkening
shades, leaving only a slit of light visible at the bottom of three of the
shades. The room falls into darkness. He directs our class sit on one lab table and
the other class sit on the other. Then
he says we’re going play a game called pickpocket. I am immediately concerned,
and wish I had been sent over to Miss Johanna’s with the girls. I am guessing they are not playing
pickpocket.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The object of the game is to acquire as many leaves as
possible. He does not say if the leaves
will be returned, and I feel fearful of losing my own leaf and of other kids
losing theirs and being sad. I think
that this is an inappropriate game, and I am unhappy about it. However, I am the student teacher, and at
this point am only observing, so I keep my opinions to myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Mr. Hollister blows the whistle and the game starts, I
back into a corner and hope that everyone forgets me. The room falls into pandemonium, kids dashing
everywhere, hooting and laughing. Unlike
me, they seem to be happy. At one point,
a whole crowd of them sweeps past me, and someone grabs one my arms and I twirl
helplessly into the running mass of kids and bang against a lab table, not hard
enough to hurt, but I am surrounded by bodies moving, thumping and laughing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I realize my leaf is gone. I pat myself down and I definitely don’t have
it. I feel a sense of loss and grief and
also anger and something akin to hatred for being forced to play this stupid
game. It seems to go on and on and I make my way back to the corner and
sulk. I have no desire to touch male
students in the dark searching for hidden leaves. The whole idea seems ludicrous and inappropriate
to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, Mr. Hollister blows his whistle and the game stops. Kids turn on the lights, pull up the shades,
and hold up their trophies—the ones who have trophies. The others stand back, but they don’t look
sad. They look surprisingly
cheerful. Hank comes over to stand by
me. He is grinning ear it ear. “I got your leaf,” he says, and holds out his
hand. I stare at all the stuff in his
hand. “Here,” he says, “take it,” and
pushes his hand closer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hanging from his hand is my leaf, my camera, my necklace,
and laying in his hand is my cell phone, my wallet, a pen, a paint-brush in a
metal tube, my glasses. Everything is
intact. I look in my wallet and my money
and cards seem to be there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hank looks pleased with himself, and happy. He seems to think I should praise him. But I
feel violated and sad. I wonder if he or
anyone else has taken anything from me and not returned it. Something I will miss later, when it is too
late. We stand staring at each other,
our face inches apart. When he leans and
gives me a small kiss on my cheek, I steel myself against drawing back, not
from Hank, who I love, but from this terrible game and his acceptance of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dream April 5, 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3bqSce6hMEPFhyikisQEn-xn0iI2fVj1v804tG5sNyiLDGWSdIbeRRJoHXE29NxNoct6xGe-B6wqjliXQERO54wkHgIpkMoKNPn9M5XsX9LWWKNeP6qHHO35xQ4hgie1m6mX3A/s1600/leaf+in+hand_0153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3bqSce6hMEPFhyikisQEn-xn0iI2fVj1v804tG5sNyiLDGWSdIbeRRJoHXE29NxNoct6xGe-B6wqjliXQERO54wkHgIpkMoKNPn9M5XsX9LWWKNeP6qHHO35xQ4hgie1m6mX3A/s1600/leaf+in+hand_0153.jpg" height="177" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar maple leaf by me,<br />
Mary Stebbins Taitt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How does this make you
feel? What does it remind you of?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It may have been influenced by Reality TV, movies and books,
such as <i>Hunger Games</i>. I have fearfully been avoiding seeing or
reading any of them, but they leak into my consciousness anyway. I guess I am a big wimp. I hate even the idea of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I worked for a number of years teaching in inner city
schools, but never played a game called pickpocket. I have no idea where that came from except
perhaps because I have jury duty coming up and worry about the pickpockets
downtown.<o:p></o:p></div>
Mary Stebbins Taitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10626507461216769140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-52418539399394385652013-06-20T13:52:00.003-04:002013-06-20T13:52:41.440-04:00A Dream of Floating<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWYYthSWHpWFD-gtYypzeM0qBelYbFpx0JrPkZ86blJMYm1jGn8jmgn5Sy08LZGmzPEDnQyXe1J8fIPd_fWvHUFw2NQKWLjp-4V0y1zK3TuOZzRd6pFSspSkCqXGjHuMaSvA3qg/s1600/Picture+41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWYYthSWHpWFD-gtYypzeM0qBelYbFpx0JrPkZ86blJMYm1jGn8jmgn5Sy08LZGmzPEDnQyXe1J8fIPd_fWvHUFw2NQKWLjp-4V0y1zK3TuOZzRd6pFSspSkCqXGjHuMaSvA3qg/s400/Picture+41.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Dream of Floating<br />
acrylic, envelope</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I painted this dream theme on an envelope. I don't know how well it will hold up to the journey.<br />
<br />
I am still sick, do not seem to be getting better. Doctor tomorrow. :-(merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-70668890288915772702013-06-17T13:54:00.000-04:002013-06-20T13:55:27.343-04:00little dream sketchesI am in a sketchbook exchange program and these are little dream sketches for Aya's pocket. The pocket is in the back of the sketchbook. Aya's pocket says, "add dreams here" (Or something like that). <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAqEEWk9JmYDvaj0A06_bhS0q25SmELrhM2B636AolWi2i4sTbTokwuvwDcyRS5uQCwj7tEErGZvG2YGYg-vbfapy4POqruwwKUQUwLVAnO3OniMIqdEYXICZrVMRa3XHw0gyRg/s1600/Dreams++071-fly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAqEEWk9JmYDvaj0A06_bhS0q25SmELrhM2B636AolWi2i4sTbTokwuvwDcyRS5uQCwj7tEErGZvG2YGYg-vbfapy4POqruwwKUQUwLVAnO3OniMIqdEYXICZrVMRa3XHw0gyRg/s400/Dreams++071-fly.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In my flying dreams, I am not always sure<br />
if I am flying or falling.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4C-XeOOc2fTns6yzU1AHQ3ow07upv3PtNJ_COxgfqmhAOyjzjGs11Gn8yxEk6BfTGJL7G22FflmNEXGPK0Kh71dObmiaH7S7FM0oB-ULaZS-ODrtBuAIPY4o2xpDv8fcB5ARZXA/s1600/Dreams++071-wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4C-XeOOc2fTns6yzU1AHQ3ow07upv3PtNJ_COxgfqmhAOyjzjGs11Gn8yxEk6BfTGJL7G22FflmNEXGPK0Kh71dObmiaH7S7FM0oB-ULaZS-ODrtBuAIPY4o2xpDv8fcB5ARZXA/s400/Dreams++071-wall.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes, I can walk through walls<br />
in my dreams!<br />
Click images to view larger.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These are just little, done with gouche on red-colored card stock.merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-385592953049007212013-06-16T13:57:00.000-04:002013-06-20T13:58:39.098-04:00Lion Nightmare<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8_PTxWhr1KJNfWlBH9ptiAxIVCsVBrigh8LFI0C-Sx0XxUZRagzB9UndVQoQE7UWDcO5kp0OYJcLO3WTlIF2JuhsoX7ovgUzglbUKkSRu1fAUIlKnQVuG3IjvokkJ8oRaB-9Xeg/s1600/Picture+36.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8_PTxWhr1KJNfWlBH9ptiAxIVCsVBrigh8LFI0C-Sx0XxUZRagzB9UndVQoQE7UWDcO5kp0OYJcLO3WTlIF2JuhsoX7ovgUzglbUKkSRu1fAUIlKnQVuG3IjvokkJ8oRaB-9Xeg/s400/Picture+36.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nightmare: The Lion<br />
Click images to view larger</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
We have out-of-town company and I am sick. When they are sitting around talking and drinking, I keep them company in my nightgown doing art.<br />
<br />
In the nightmare, which woke me up in literal terror, I was at the coliseum watching the lions about to eat the Christians when one of the lions spotted me in the stands, bounded over the wall and up over the seats toward me. He was coming for ME.merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-19802226519763148582013-06-14T14:00:00.000-04:002013-06-20T14:00:54.115-04:00Nightmare: Not what he seemed<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6vhyixjmTkudJYMPQSfz48NTh0nVOvzmAJA0344Kwd17UDKW99NJBQpNNE_QEW8V0osgV1t7lA6VaXGdi5ogL9fKWXZcz9O3Sia01RO6hGkPCAYwWiqZOArpdVBWPla2jTgirQ/s1600/Picture+35.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6vhyixjmTkudJYMPQSfz48NTh0nVOvzmAJA0344Kwd17UDKW99NJBQpNNE_QEW8V0osgV1t7lA6VaXGdi5ogL9fKWXZcz9O3Sia01RO6hGkPCAYwWiqZOArpdVBWPla2jTgirQ/s400/Picture+35.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nightmare: When you get him home,<br />
he's not what he seemed<br />
(Glass eye, wig, wooden leg and silver nose.<br />
Click image to view larger</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-82995338750520495262013-05-10T14:05:00.000-04:002013-06-20T14:07:52.419-04:00Worst Nightmares<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlNpmmxEj3MPQ5m-pPqbpXGi1JPhJgShGMhAgdk0qdOdroD-0CymOu6rp8jbbDw0AdqyK2hD88Om3kHxgb4m9hr8Zunla6FQf0UwIjVm3WvBz8O20teIV1Dk5rSf7JxRVZ3y3Lg/s1600/Worst+Nightmare+Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlNpmmxEj3MPQ5m-pPqbpXGi1JPhJgShGMhAgdk0qdOdroD-0CymOu6rp8jbbDw0AdqyK2hD88Om3kHxgb4m9hr8Zunla6FQf0UwIjVm3WvBz8O20teIV1Dk5rSf7JxRVZ3y3Lg/s400/Worst+Nightmare+Flowers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"When Confronted with our Worst Nightmares<br />
I like to fight back with Flowers"<br />
Collaboration Andrea and Mary<br />
mixed media<br />
water color, acrylic, pigment pens, colored pencil<br />
click image to view larger</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I have a lot of dreams of being chased down dark alleys by men who intend me harm. They are nightmares, because I wake up terrified. <br />
<br />
Click on the image to see it much larger.<br />
<br />
I am still sick and my work is going slowly.merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-88556940924194649522012-02-17T08:38:00.002-05:002012-02-17T08:38:51.714-05:00Sexual Propositions and a Giant Leech<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sexual Propositions
and a Giant Leech<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am in a bar at a resort with a lot of other people and am
sitting at a table with friends, wrapped in a towel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eric Potter comes up and, standing behind me, slips his
hands down under the towel to cup my breasts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He makes lewd suggestive sexy remarks about having sex with
me and I am feeling aroused by his touch.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftn1" name="_ftnref" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[1]<!--[endif]--></span></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone suggests skinny-dipping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am standing on a dock (wooden walkway) with another woman
looking into the dark pond/lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The water is cold and somehow threatening and people standing around
naked are hesitant to go in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
dive right in and immediately feel as if I have made a mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m not sure what the mistake is,
and I swim out to the middle of the lake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, a giant leech the size of a boa constrictor
attacks me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is black, with a
head like a planarian and a big mouth which is struggling to attach itself to
me, I fight with the thing, which is very very strong, and I am tiring and the
mouth, which I am trying to hold away, is getting closer and closer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A boat comes up (a houseboat-like boat) and a woman with a
syringe and needle tries to subdue the giant leech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am worried she will kill it, and even though I do not want
to be bitten by it, I don’t want her to kill it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She struggles and struggles and finally, the thing goes
limp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friday, February 17, 2012</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What does this remind
you of?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
YIKES!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sex!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unpleasant
and unwanted sex, rape.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, starting at the beginning, Eric Potter was my second
lover and the one who broke my maidenhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(OUCH!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow
Peter Black did not manage to do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had to stuff ice cubes up my crotch to stop the bleeding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Eric is now an old, fat man in a
nursing home who says “he can’t get it up any more.”) (And I am an old, fat
woman!) <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dark, threatening waters remind me of: sex, the
unconscious, nightmares, therapy sessions.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I rarely swim any more, because Keith doesn’t like to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to love to swim, and when I was
younger, would dive right in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now,
on the rare occasions when I swim, I go in more gingerly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The giant leach is shaped like a huge black penis—like a big
horse’s penis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea of being
attacked by a “giant penis” reminds me of rape and unwanted sex.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to see a lot of horses penises while doing my horse
research, and always wondered why women might want to have sex with them—didn’t
make sense to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too big!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some Russian Czarina, Catherine the
Great, was supposedly killed trying to have sex with a horse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a horrible, crazy idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span>
(The claim that her death was caused by a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legends_of_Catherine_the_Great"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">sexual
incident involving a horse</span></a> is a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_legend"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">myth</span></a> and apparently has
no basis.)<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftn2" name="_ftnref" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[2]<!--[endif]--></span></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It also reminds me of the time when a real boa constrictor
tried to kill me and Rachel, my boss, “rescued” me, after Bob ran out of the
building.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a period of time in my life when I lived in a
commune and went skinny-dipping with my fellow commune members and other local
hippies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was never entirely
comfortable with it, although I do like skinny-dipping in safe places with a
single companion or alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The leech, going limp at the end, is also phallic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the giant leech goes limp, the
threat is over.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I no longer go to bars often, except occasionally to hear
music (friends).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to go
fairly often with friends when I was younger and one time, sitting in a bar
yukking it up with friends, I suddenly had an “epiphany” (or, in this case,
moment of clarity) that I wasn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>
having fun, and I stopped going.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In what ways do I feel that I am making a mistake and am
going ahead anyway?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Over committing myself</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Taking this poetry class<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftn3" name="_ftnref" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[3]<!--[endif]--></span></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Being too busy to work on and complete already
started projects.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The Rolandale House</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Marriage (sometimes)(Though less and less often,
but still sometimes.)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Attempting to mother or not mother Graham.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftn4" name="_ftnref" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[4]<!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
Finding a balance.</div>
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftnref" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[1]<!--[endif]--></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> I may be having more sex
dreams because I am getting less actual sex lately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div style="background: white; line-height: 10.55pt; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftnref" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[2]<!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
Although grossly overweight, Catherine loved men - a great many of them, in
fact - over the course of her 34-year reign. And then, it was rumored, she died
during a botched attempt to make love (if it can be called such a thing) to a
horse. The rumor may have been spread by Catherine's Polish enemies, who
resented her for annexing much of Poland. (On the list of European royalty's
leisure activities, "overrunning Poland" has historically been a
close second to "Sex.") At any rate, Catherine never had sex with a
horse, and one wonders why anyone felt compelled to make up such a story, since
her actual death was plenty humiliating. While straining on the toilet, she had
a stroke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Like Keith’s first
wife, Florence.)(Hope I don’t go that way.) <a href="http://www.neatorama.com/2008/10/16/a-pain-in-the-royal-horse-5-sex-rumors-about-royalty/">http://www.neatorama.com/2008/10/16/a-pain-in-the-royal-horse-5-sex-rumors-about-royalty/</a>
Also confirmed in Wikipedia.</div>
</div>
<div id="ftn" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftnref" name="_ftn3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[3]<!--[endif]--></span></span></a> <span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I am vacillating between
feeling misunderstood and unappreciated and feeling worthless and incompetent
in this current poetry class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me want to give up poetry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or at least poetry classes and
competitions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=16579416#_ftnref" name="_ftn4" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->[4]<!--[endif]--></span></span></a> <span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I had a really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nice “bonding” time</i> with Graham helping
him make a tie-dye T-shirt for his trip to Italy for the Aquarius song. We went
to the store together, picked out a kit, came home and I helped him fold and
tie it and explained how to dye it, and he did and it came out nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Made me remember, miss and wish for the
time when he liked to sit on my lap and I felt closer to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-62165993250789153982012-02-13T09:03:00.000-05:002012-02-17T09:03:45.318-05:00Save my husband!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Save my husband!<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are at this strange pool place that seems to be some kind
of installment rather than a swimming place, but people are swimming in one of
the pools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a series of pools
with narrow cement walkways between them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Somehow, Keith falls into to one of the pools and disappears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I run to where the people are and
scream and scream for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
are so slow coming I say over and over and over, please hurry, every second counts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t hurry, but eventually the
come and walk slowly through the pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One small obnoxious man finds Keith and gives him CPR and Keith revives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am so desperately relived and
grateful—I keep thinking the man, even though I don’t like him and want to give
him a reward but he goes off with the other people back to the other pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keith is kind of limp and exhausted and
his eyes are wrong—he looks as if he is blind or as if his cornea has separated
from his eyes or as if there are shining discs inserted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or weird contact lenses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am gathering our things and Keith
disappears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if he
walked off or fell back into the pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I look in several pools—one of them is opaque and milky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wake up in a panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Monday, February 13, 2012</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">+++++++++What does
this remind you of?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My good friend Pam’s husband just died this week (last week,
5 days ago) and of course, she is bereaved and terribly lonely and upset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My good friend Hal recently lost his
wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Herb was Keith’s age, and
Ann even younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both had
cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reminders of
mortality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone could die at any
time, but the older you get, the more likely you are to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to KEEP Keith and myself alive,
for as long as reasonably possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am afraid both of suffering and of death itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have a lot to do. (A lot I want
to accomplish!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bruce’s cousin David Farnsworth’s daughter Ellen fell out of
a boat into a lake and lay at the bottom of a lake for like half an hour and
then was revived and was OK—that was 35 years ago or so and she is still alive
and well and married and has children—the 40-degree water stopped the brain
death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus my shouting,
“every second counts” over and over—I wanted to save him and to not have him be
damaged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted him alive <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and well</i>!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pools installation was sort of like an old-fashions
sewage treatment plant—but the water in most of the pools was clean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Perhaps it had once been a sewage
treatment plant, but wasn’t full of sewage now.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was thinking about what you (Brian) said about how in my
dreams, I am always the one who knows what to do and other seems to be stupid
or slow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not think that is
always true, even in my dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
real life, it is certainly NOT true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, there are many times in dreams and in life when other people do
not see a need I see or believe in or are slow or stupid or otherwise impeding
what seems necessary to me. I observe every day people who are smarter than I,
know more than I, are more organized than I am, better writers, better artists,
etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not, in waking life,
consider myself the best at anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On the other hand, there seems to be a vast crowd of dolts and idiots
surging around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watching other
drivers can frighten one off the road, for example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reading things people forward (a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bad</i> habit) can make one question the intelligence and sanity of the
sender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I think some people
forward everything they get without a moment’s thought to its value.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this dream, when Keith disappeared,
I did not know whether he left or had fallen in or what I did NOT know what to
do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I often do not know what to
do.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the first part, however, I
knew we needed to walk across the pool hand-in-hand to find him, since we
couldn’t see to the bottom of the pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(These were not regular swimming pools, and were old, and brown rather
than blue and the water wasn’t entirely clear—more like pond water, but not
sewage. Thus the foot-dragging for location.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The human chain to locate possible drowning victims was a
part of my past, a constant part of my childhood and my children’s
childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It always frightened
me, especially as a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
also frightened when my kids were little.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Interesting that I have to wonder if my sometimes (often)
being in charge of things in dreams is a bad thing, and whether you (Brian)
were pointing out a flaw in my personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or is it a good thing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or is it just a thing?</div>
<!--EndFragment-->merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-75059275766731528922011-12-20T09:59:00.003-05:002011-12-20T11:57:28.324-05:00Crow Man and Heidi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbctic8vHQZuRf3cs2QR6ZJYLMVhxiHH4mWRBEOk7jAJ8VxcwYjFSUrvu980jGvQMZlhe0E2vcaiMeVSwCLnTOBq3LXWjnoJJ_yPJKR3dtbsbB1x8Xty2badCXVmeEkcZaQUFwg/s1600/Picture+153.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbctic8vHQZuRf3cs2QR6ZJYLMVhxiHH4mWRBEOk7jAJ8VxcwYjFSUrvu980jGvQMZlhe0E2vcaiMeVSwCLnTOBq3LXWjnoJJ_yPJKR3dtbsbB1x8Xty2badCXVmeEkcZaQUFwg/s400/Picture+153.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crowman and me<br />After The Crow Man, by Winterwolfe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Crow Man and Heidi<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am at the premiere presentation of Crow Man. Scientists have taken a real, living
crow and added human chromosomes and done a series of operations. They intend to make him fully human,
but have not finished yet. Crow
Man is about three feet tall. His
skin color is nearly a normal human color, pinkish, with a little grey left
from the black. His spine has been
straightened he walks erect, his beak has been removed and his face looks
human, though slightly strange. He
still has the beak, which has been expanded. He holds it up to his face and he resembles a crow, he takes
it away and he’s human again. His
hair is jet black and feathery.
His hips are wrong, still, and his has trouble walked and especially
turning. His feet are long and
somewhat crippled—and bare. They
curl in such a way that he mainly walks on the outsides of his feet—more
operations are scheduled for the hips and feet. He walks around awkwardly and comes to where I am sitting
talks to me. I ask him questions and
he replies. He takes a like to me
and gives me a kiss. Not a
romantic or sexual kiss, just a friendly kiss. When he turns around and walks back the other way, I wipe
the cooling drop of his spit from the side of my mouth. Then, I look around in hopes no one saw
me do that because it seems rude.
I don’t want to wipe away the kiss, only the spit and any germs it might
contain. But it seems like a fine
line. The audience, however, is
engaged in watching Crow Man. Or
seems to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the presentation is over, there is a reception, and
people are sitting at picnic tables still listening to the scientists answer
questions. There will be food and
beverage, but I want to go take a walk before it gets dark. I go over to Heidi. Keith is somewhere, too. But Heidi doesn’t want to walk; she
wants to stay and listen to the questions about Crow Man. She says Keith wants to stay too,
though Keith is not in evidence at the moment. I try to talk her into coming, but she won’t come. Finally, I go out to walk alone. It seems to me that the questions and
answers are all a rehash of what has already been said anyway. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sad and a little upset and angry because the delay has
caused it to get dark. I am in a strange and unfamiliar place and don’t know my
way around. I know there is a lake
at the bottom of a long gradual hill and decide to go there first. I can see the lake faintly in the
distance and also a long lawn running down to it—all in the very dark dark. I
walk down toward the lake and in the dark, I trip on a pipe or some pipe-like
object protruding from the ground up to about mid-calf. It hurts and I stumble and wake
up. Tuesday, December 20, 2011</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What does this remind
you of?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Shamanism</b>: First, and dream with talking animals
reminds me of Shamanism, which I studied, including dream Shamanism. This is bad time for me, right before
Christmas, to work with the dream Shamanistically; I am too busy and that takes
time. Crows are very
intelligent. They are also
thieves. They steal food from farmers,
and they also sometimes steal shiny things, like a magpie. They steal babies from other
birds. They supposedly have been
known to poke out the eyes of human who try to attack their nests—they are
protective. Because they are
black, they are sometimes considered to be evil. It would be interesting to consider what such a creature
would have to tell and teach me. I
miss my Shamanistic practice—I seem to have less time for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything</i>. I had no partner and no kid living at home back then.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Walking</b>: Walking is essential to my well-being,
but sometimes difficult and painful.
I need to try to cram it into every day, no matter how busy. This causes
difficulties for my family, my friends and me. I don’t mind walking in the dark
with a companion, but prefer to walk during daylight hours if I walk alone so I
can write while I walk. Also, if
in unfamiliar territory, so I don’t trip and possibly injure myself!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Not
wanting to walk</b>: When Heidi
was here, she and Keith made it clear that they did not want to walk in the
mush-puhsh. I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">secretly</i> a little disappointed that she,
my great walking companion of old, who lives in the wilds, was (in those
instances) so prim and prissy. And
wimpy. However, part of the
problem was her shoes, and later, she got out a better pair of shoes.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ethics
and Morals</b>: Although I was
very interested in Crow Man in the dream, and still am, sometimes it seems as
if scientists do thing they should not so, and this might be one of them. I just finished a book where the
protagonists did some bad things, which is always upsetting and disappointing
to me. I like the protagonists to
be the “good guys” and gals; they can and should have faults, but it seems to
me that the good guys should not go beyond a certain point and if they do—they
are no longer good guys but bad guys.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Bare feet</b>: remind me of childhood, of nature, of
savages (the primitive) of being in contact with nature.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tripping
in the dark</b>: Hmmm. I trip a
lot, both literally and figuratively, and more often in the literal and figurative
dark than in the light. I could
ask myself, “in what ways am I tripping myself up?” There are many answers and I have little time right now—I
trip myself up by walking at night, by eating bad foods, by beating myself up,
by taking on too many projects, by not finishing the ones I have, but not
submitting my work. By getting
angry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Wherever crows are, there is magic. They are
symbols of creation and spiritual strength. They remind us to look for
opportunities to create and manifest the magic of life. They are
messengers calling to us about the creation and magic that is alive within our
world everyday and available to us." Ted Andrews</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Magic:</b> If I look at Crow Man is MAGIC rather
than as a scientific teratogenic <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">monster</i>,
it serves to remind me of the magic and creativity and love in life. Of transformation. And of joy and happiness, and gives me
a surge of hope at a time when I am feeling overwhelmed and depressed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Since Crow is the keeper of sacred law, Crow can bend
the laws of the physical universe and "shape shift". This
ability is rare and unique. Few adepts exist in today's world, and fewer
still have mastered Crow's art of shape shifting. This art includes
doubling, or being in two places at one time consciously; taking on another
physical form, and becoming the "fly on the wall" to observe what is
happening far away....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Crow is an omen of
change. Crow lives in the void and has no sense of time. The
Ancient Chiefs tell us that Crow sees simultaneously the three fates- past,
present, and future. Crow merges light and darkness, seeing both inner
and outer reality."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sams and Carson Medicine Cards</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Shape-shifting</b>: This is powerful Shamanistic
stuff. Since my crow shape-shifted
(with the help, in the dream, of the scientists, it reminds me of the studies I
did with Robert Moss in shape-shifting, of being in two places at once, of
sending the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mind-spirit</i> out to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hunt</i>. This is what we do also as poets and artists.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The inner
and outer reality</b>: Seeing both
is like the healing process, bringing the subconscious to the conscious and
becoming aware.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Being
chosen</b>: The fact that Crow Man
chose me in the dream—did not kiss anyone else—reminds me of my fear that I am
chosen by men bent on hurting me (abusers), but also by this powerful but as of
yet crippled figure of Shamanistic power.
(This reminds me of the Mogur in The Clan of the Cave Bear!) It gives me a sense of latent power,
strength, and ability.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Twisting</b>: I notice that I am twisting the
apparent meanings in the dreams—the surface meanings, into something more
positive. I do not necessarily see
that as a bad thing, because being in touch with deeper feelings mined in this
manner have given me more energy and cheer at a time when I needed it. Energy and cheer are useful. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Stopping:</b> I notice that the work I do after I
decide I “should” stop is more important than the work before that. And were I to go on, I might do better
work yet. BUT I MUST STOP. I have other things I MUST do. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>I would like to do some art to go with this, but that ain't about to happen immediately!!!</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-58276858616827713052011-12-09T10:15:00.001-05:002011-12-09T10:15:17.015-05:00The green shirtsI buy a bale of pale yellow green T-shirts, really cheap. But when I open them, not only are they more poorly made than I imaged, but also, they each have named inside the colors and are obviously used and frayed. One has many names. They seem to be children's shirts from camp, ad I am afraid they won't fit.merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-65783140599969710272011-12-05T10:16:00.000-05:002011-12-09T10:17:02.648-05:00My Brother, his Novel, the Hidden Chair and the Security Unnecessary Guilt and False Accusations<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">My Brother, his
Novel, the Hidden Chair and the Security <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Unnecessary Guilt and False Accusations<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My brother Robert lends me a book about a 14-year old girl
that he thinks I would be interested in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is a novel interspersed with pictures, poems, and scrapbook
items.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has a cheap red cover
and has fallen into two pieces, which are in danger of splitting further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The threads of the binding are hanging
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sitting at the
dining-room table in someone else’s house reading and enjoying the book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are maybe eight other people in
the house, and they are expecting their grandmother and when she arrives, they
all parade into the dining room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
consider moving, but do not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Someone complains that there aren’t enough chairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because there seems to be one chair too
few, about half the contingent returns to the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stand up and point out another chair
that was half-hidden behind mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But no one returns to the dining room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel guilty, even though I don’t think it is my fault, and
I leave the house with my brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My brother has never been here, to this location
before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell him about the ancient
graveyard behind the house and we walk up the stone walkway up the hill to the
graveyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not like
old American graveyards, but like old European graveyards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am excited about this and telling him
about the ones we saw in Slovenia, Italy and Australia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the back of the graveyard is an old low stone building,
and we go inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are
immediately drawn to a large glassed-in cage full of hermit crabs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are robot arms with gripper jaws
that can be used to pick up the food for the crabs and deliver it from the
plastic bins, which can be filled from the cage, to the crabs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We each have a turn doing this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get an old rotted-looking brown onion
and try to deliver it to a certain crab, but it rolls away down the rocks and
half in ad half out of the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hope the crab will get it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We leave the building and Rob is going off somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell him there are snow-clad
mountains just beyond here, but he says I can show him later; he has to do
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I’ve only been
here maybe once before, and I am not sure I am remembering correctly. I decide
to check to be sure I’m right about the mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, I remember, there are other interesting ruins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk past some appealing ruins and
come around a bend in the trail and can see the mountains in the distance—they
are tall, thin, and rocky with bulgy rocks rather than rock faces—very strange
formations, with patches of snow like alpine glaciers near the top.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to walk closer, but there is a large school bus
blocking the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I consider
crawling under it to continue my walk on the other side and bend and look under
the bus, but it is covered, under there, with thick black grease.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A security guard comes and is upset, thinking I want to
vandalize the bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explain that
I am just trying to follow the trail to the mountains and the bus is blocking
the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I go around the bus,
but the security guard follows me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is haranguing me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
stop to defend myself from her accusations and a line of people walking toward
the mountains comes by the narrow space behind the bus where we are
standing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Among them are Bruce and
Debby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They do not appear to see
me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I follow them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The security guard follows me, making false accusations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just keep walking toward the
mountains, ignoring her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunday,
December 4, 2011</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What does this remind
you of?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->a way to write a novel </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->(Reminds
me of a novel series that was popular maybe ten years ago)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->(Might
be a fun way to write a novel)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->unnecessary guilt</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->that
I was taking up a chair needed by someone else (someone who was welcomed and
wanted whereas I was not welcomed.) but there was, in fact enough chairs.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->false accusations</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->the
missing chair: I was accused of making it so there were not enough chairs, when
in fact there was</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->the
security guard: I was accused of wanting to vandalize the bus when it had never
even occurred to me.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I
REALLY <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>HATE</u></i></b> being falsely accused.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->various failures</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The
hidden chair</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Feeding
the crab</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I
am sad and upset when I feel that I have failed</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->successes:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Remembering
the cemetery</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Remembering
the mountains</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I
am pleased to have remembered correctly</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->things that engage and interest me</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->the
novel</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->the
old cemetery</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->the
robot arms and the crabs</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->the
ruins</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->the
mountains</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">Ø<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->ignoring the security guard</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Ignoring
my false inner voices</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The
security guard is like my inner voice that tells me I am “bad” when I am
not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->In
one case, I gave into it (the inner blaming voice of guilt) and left the house
where there were sufficient chairs because I felt bad</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->In
the other case, I totally ignored the persistent accusations, knowing in my
heart I was not guilty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
haranguing of the guard was like a mosquito buzzing around my ear, an annoyance
but not heartfelt.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The
difference is, I think, that I was partly blocking the view of the last chair
and therefore felt that I actually was PARTLY to blame for the anger of the
woman who chastised me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the one
case, I knew for sure I wasn’t at fault, and in the other case, I felt somewhat
responsible and also unwanted and unloved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even in that case, I wasn’t really to blame.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I
feel as if I am often falsely accused or blamed for things.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->On
the other hand, I do actually make mistakes and do things wrong sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>HATE</u></i></b> being wrong
and/or stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I want to be
perfect, but I am NOT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Darn!)</div>
<!--EndFragment-->merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-74035346474591100432011-11-18T08:47:00.001-05:002011-12-09T10:13:42.806-05:00An Impulsive Mistake<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am looking out the window of some academic building on some
campus with someone, and I see my daughters walking a bunch of dogs. I tell the person I am with that those
girls are my daughters and that the dogs, or some of them, at one time were
mine. I name the dogs and describe
them, so she will know which is which.
Sassy and Charlie are there, but all the other dogs are different, brown
and blacks and larger than Sassy and Charlie. Sara and Erin go around the corner and I tell my companion that
the girls are taking a class in that building across the street and it is an
excellent class with a fantastic teacher.
We go over there, up the stairs and into the “lounge” of the classroom,
which is a large living-room-like room, a little darkish, with couches and easy
chairs and displays of student work.
I proudly show my companion my daughters’ projects and then the projects
of some of the other students.
There are a number of students in the room who I seem to be mildly
acquainted with. I discover a
project I hadn’t seen before that was getting lots of attention. It had a sign on it saying that the two
boys who worked on it have submitted it to the president of the United States. The boys were both in the room and I
ask them about it, and they say the famous actress Sherry Fairchild is
investing everything in it in the spring.
I am amazed and proud and glad for them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aSCMM1ofqdfIF7HJ7k9NVJVebbfATG1NG0wWgaJs9sbCzgqtglzh1wDPF6K_1fd5xYsSEXiZaYXWVugJCQ_2UvLasU-PVmAkA7ileWMQ0MNqsRr8I_APfR-5SL3Bv6TKz78L3g/s1600/Picture+52.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aSCMM1ofqdfIF7HJ7k9NVJVebbfATG1NG0wWgaJs9sbCzgqtglzh1wDPF6K_1fd5xYsSEXiZaYXWVugJCQ_2UvLasU-PVmAkA7ileWMQ0MNqsRr8I_APfR-5SL3Bv6TKz78L3g/s400/Picture+52.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am holding a girl on my lap—a college-age girl in a white
dress, slender and pretty, the way I would hold a child. We are sitting in the room, and then we
are sitting in a swimming area on a rock.
I see several frogs swimming by and I think to impress the girl by
catching one and I dart my hand down and snag one. I am a bit surprised it was that easy. The girl, though, is a little bit
upset. I tell the girl that the frog is worried because it thinks I am going to
eat it. The girl gets off my lap
and moves away and I am moving through the water with the frog in my hand about
to let it go, when I put my hand on the top of a rock so tall jutting out of
the water that I do not notice a HUGE frog sitting on top of the rock. The frog in my hand I had thought was a
nice large green frog, but this one is huge. Without thinking what I am doing, I toss my frog into the
large frogs open mouth. I see the
reason that it is open is that the big frog has another frog in its mouth. I want my frog to jump back out and
consider scooping it out. I am
sorry I have thrown it in. Just as
I go to reach for it to rescue it, feeling terrible and guilty, the big frog
partially swallows and my frog partly disappears, without a struggle, down the
big frogs gullet. It is still
visible, just its head and one of its legs. I feel awful, bad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decide, however, not to try to dig the smaller frog from
the throat of the big one and am standing on the side of the cement wall of the
pond/pool area considering diving in, but I think the water might be too
shallow. And full of underwater
rocks, so I turn to the side and consider diving into the deep end. But I am wearing jeans. I wonder if I want to take them off and
swim in my underwear, swim in my clothes, or not swim. Or skinny dip. All the students from the class, those
that were in the room when I was there, are around in and out of the pool.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The teacher of the students asks me if they could take a
field trip out to my farm. I am
telling her that the place is sort of run down and would not be a good place
for a field trip. I start
describing the barn as having a green fiberglass roof held together with duct
tape and I look up and notice that the roof of the school is made of green
fiberglass and has duct tape patches.
But their green fiberglass is almost transparent and the patches are
only over the nail holes. I am
wondering if I even have any chickens left. I tell her the ducks and goats are gone. I am visualizing, with great sadness,
deep decrepitude. Friday, November
18, 2011</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What does this remind
you of?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The most powerful part of the dream is the business of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">catching
the frog and feeding it to another frog</i>.</b> This reminds me of all the impulsive stupid things I have
done that I feel guilty about, most recently, the incident of hitting Keith and
other angry outbursts. One in the
past was tattling on Linda. There
are many things I feel sad and guilty about. Some were things <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I did and shouldn’t have</i> and some things
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I didn’t do but should have</i>. These things upset and haunt me. I wish time could be rewound to the
point before the incident and I could be allowed to make a better choice. Thinking about killing that frog that
was swimming innocently through the water makes me feel really BAD and
SAD. I want to undo that and undo
hitting Keith and tattling on Linda etc.
And the bad things that happened to Sassy, Charlie, Vickie, Buffy,
Shendy etc. And my current
ambivalent feeling about pets.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started the dream by telling a companion about what I was
seeing, but at some point, the companion faded away and I was “narrating the
dream as if writing a story.” This
reminds me of my work on my current novel, all the other novels I’ve written,
and my lack of getting any of them published. This makes me sad, angry, guilty, frustrated. (*)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The girl on my lap reminds me of when I used to hold Erin on
my lap, even when she was a big girl.
It reminds me of holding all the kids, including Graham, and the
grandkids. And not holding
Frankie, because I’m too far away for him to know me. In the dream, my feelings for the girl were loving and
innocent. Motherly, rather than sexual.
(*)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It also reminds me of being a kid and being held by my
mother, father, grandmother, aunt etc.
(And being held by Keith and the need for physical warmth.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The teacher wanting to bring the class to the farm reminds
me of negative things associated with the end state of the “farm” and of Raven
Girl and Santana and Raven Girl’s foal, and of the worsening state of the house
we live in and my state of inability to function physically etc. (More things to feel guilty and bad
about <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the dream, the president of the United States seems to
still be the kind of figure that a child thinks the president is, as opposed to
the bumbling fools I think of the presents now. In the dream, the president is impressive and wonderful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking out the window at my daughters reminds me of how far
away they are and how little I know of their current daily lives and how I wish
I lived closer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The actress Sherry Fairchild investing in the boys reminds
me of how I wish some editor or agent would discover ME and love MY WORK.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The students I seem to mildly be acquainted with through my
daughters remind me of the friends of my daughters I know (somewhat) and hooked
up with on Facebook or in other ways.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The dream reminds me of <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span>My love of and lifetime relationships with
animals, good and bad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span>My desire to be a fantastic teacher, writer,
photographer, artist, singer. And
my failures. AND some successes!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span>The academic community, my love for it, dislike
of it. My love of learning, my
fear about Alzheimer’s/dementia.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span>My academic successes and current failure to
accomplish what I want. Last
year’s success at NaNoWriMo and this year’s apparent failure (I am running way
behind!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span>How I used to love to swim but rarely do any
more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span>The bad things on the farm—I guess I said that,
must be time to quit.</div>merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-33587263298410023392011-10-25T10:18:00.002-04:002011-10-25T10:23:36.056-04:00In the Looney Bin and Almost Lucid<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I visit a live-in care home for crazy people, emotionally disturbed and retarded or physically disabled people of various ages. The “keepers” or staff are having breakfast and invite me to sit with them and I have some of their food which is a mixture of potatoes and meat—large pieces like a stew. Then I go in among the patients to observe. They are roaming around a courtyard that is planted with trees and flowers and looks as if it is a section of woods, pond and bog brought into the courtyard rather than a garden. People, children and adults are roaming around in various activities, but there is something strange about them and their wanderings, something random and disturbing. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One great huge fat young man rockets out of a cave on his belly like a gigantic otter, crushing some orchids I’d just been admiring. I look sadly at the mashed orchids. He is unconcerned, doesn’t even noticed, and I am disturbed and annoyed by this. The young man disappears into the forest within the courtyard.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I need to use the bathroom* and throughout the continuing dream, I try to do this and am thwarted. I discover that the first sets of bathrooms I find will not lock. I decide to use one anyway, but then the director of the place, a man, comes in to ask me if I want the same thing for breakfast today as yesterday. I say, “I will have anything, or that,:” and then realize I have to tell him about my allergies. I am standing there with a wad of toilet paper in my hand I think I have to flush the toilet because I started and didn’t finished because I’d gotten up to check again for a lock when I heard someone coming. Later, I find a staff bathroom with multiple kinds of locks including a special high power unlockable lock for staff, which has a long key about three feet long. I fiddle with the lock. I really have to use the bathroom, but it occurs to me that this seems much like a dream. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 7.199999999999999pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ῠ</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I might be dreaming, so I’d better be careful so in case I am, I don’t pee and wet the bed. I feel, stroke, palpate the bathtub next to the toilet—it is cold and very hard, shiny, and feels like porcelain. The toilet has no seat. I lower myself onto the cold hard porcelain, and take a moment to consider. It’s cold, it’s hard, it’s a real toilet and not a dream. I pee a little, but I am afraid. Tuesday, October 25, 2011</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wake up to discover I am in fact in bed, and luckily, I did not actually pee. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">*I often have dreams about needing to use the bathroom before I wake up in the morning, because, in fact, physiologically, I do need to use the bathroom. Usually, the dream goes out of its way to thwart me, to keep me from using the bathroom until I wake up.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What does this remind you of:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am fascinated by the workings of the mind. The fact that within the dream, I realized I might be dreaming and had better be careful not to pee the bed interests me. The fact that within the dream, I investigated the toilet and bathtub and found them to be HARD and COLD and shiny and smooth and in every perceivable way like a bathtub, but was still afraid to pee indicates that at some level, I knew I was dreaming. It also shows how REAL a dream can be, which indicates that any time we believe we are awake, we could be dreaming, which brings into question all of “reality” or the phenomenal world as we perceive it. If in a dream, when I am laying in bed in the dark with my eyes closed, I can see light (lots of light), and flowers etc, and FEEL cold hard tubs and toilets, and in every other way experience what is convincingly real, how do I know what we call </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">reality</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is real? And not just my dream or someone else’s?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ῠ: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">note that again, I had an opportunity to become fully “lucid,” that I came close to it, but failed to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">realize consciously</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (as opposed to simply </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">consider</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) that I was, in fact, asleep and dreaming. However, this is a step closer, so I am hoping to still be able to possible do “lucid” or conscious dreaming.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The location reminds me of a home for disturbed people I visited after an accident in a blizzard. I found it very disturbing and it haunts me. I am writing a book about it. Or, it appears in several books I am working on. (Discuss?)(Maybe have already been discussed multiple times?) Why did/do I find it so distressing? In the dream, I found it distressing. I tend to “tune in” empathetically to various “energies” people put out, including crazy confusion, and then I feel somewhat crazily confused and disoriented. (The dream about the loony bin is much more detailed than described above; I can no longer recall the details.)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve had a fear of “The Looney Bin” ever since I was at Langley Porter and they said I would never recover. Interesting that at the Looney Bin, I am “almost Lucid,” but not quite. Sometimes, I think that the truly “sane” are “crazy.” I’m not sure that being truly sane is an appropriate goal—perhaps being happy and conscious (aware) is a better goal? No, not “happy,” because no one can be happy all the time, probably, unless they are in fact a little crazy or touched or something, but what? Total self acceptance? Inner calm? None of these seem right, because sometimes, calmness is not the appropriate response to what happens—SOME core of inner calm could remain, though. And I guess total self acceptance might be a goal, I just have trouble imagining being that forgiving of one’s foibles. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Orchids and other rare wildflowers often get stepped on and crushed by animals, which seems somehow ironic. I’ve also seen them crushed by young men on motorcycles, which angered and upset me. In the dream, I wasn’t sure if that great fat young man (teenage boy?) had the ability to care about the flowers. So I wasn’t sure whether to be sad or angry.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes, I feel as if I am becoming like that great fat boy, mashing everything in my path, and that I may have to navigate by sliding along the ground when I am too fat to walk. Needless to say, I am upset by my weight and size. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div>Mary Stebbins Taitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10626507461216769140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-18091494435636497002011-02-26T15:53:00.001-05:002011-02-26T15:53:38.977-05:00Lessons<meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/marytaitt/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Lessons</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Through cracks in the sea-shrunk boards of the shanty</p> <p class="MsoNormal">flows danger-darkened air. Vapors billow, taint the room </p> <p class="MsoNormal">with the smells of searot, putrefying fish and terror. I do not need </p> <p class="MsoNormal">to open the door to know that outside, a sea witch waits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Through </p> <p class="MsoNormal">heavy oak wood, I see her clearly; her feet drift an inch above the step. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her gown shimmers, glitters and floats around her in waves of blue, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">green, and endless black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Beside her stands her merman consort </p> <p class="MsoNormal">with his scaly legs and sharpened trident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Apprehension clings </p> <p class="MsoNormal">to my skin like dirty spider webs, like decaying fishnets. I peel off </p> <p class="MsoNormal">the slime of fear and flick it out the window, slam shut the opening</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">against invasion. I shutter myself as well, close my eyes, cover</p> <p class="MsoNormal">my ears, sleep away the day. Hours later, when my husband returns</p> <p class="MsoNormal">with his catch of the day, the witch and her companion still stand</p> <p class="MsoNormal">at the door, waiting. Waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When I ask what she wants, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">she says, "You are finished," and her voice reverberates </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">deep in the bones of my chest. She is a teacher, my husband </p> <p class="MsoNormal">reminds me, but I dread her lessons. Like my mother, my father,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">and all the men who claimed to love me, she enumerates my faults.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The baggage of my shortcomings pile on the floor around me, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">as many and endless as waves on the sea behind her. But when I ask </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">what she is selling, thinking elixirs, miracle cures, redemption, she </p> <p class="MsoNormal">and her silent green merman disappear, leaving the stoop empty </p> <p class="MsoNormal">but for a sudden whirlpool. Twisting waters suck me in, twirl me </p> <p class="MsoNormal">around, whisk me away. Now, with the same joy I find in flying, I ride </p> <p class="MsoNormal">inside the belly of a fish as transparent as if made of glass. Through</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">the prisms of its scales, I watch, in exultation the passing coral, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">yellow tang fish, clown fish and anemones in shifting kaleidoscopes </p> <p class="MsoNormal">of sparkling light and color. If I broke open now, this rainbow </p> <p class="MsoNormal">would paint your face, this laughter serenade your dreams.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mary Stebbins Taitt</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br></p><meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/marytaitt/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Courier New"; panose-1:2 7 3 9 2 2 5 2 4 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:Wingdings; panose-1:5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:2; mso-generic-font-family:auto; 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margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-add-space:auto; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} p.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast, li.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast, div.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:0in; margin-left:.5in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-add-space:auto; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} /* List Definitions */ @list l0 {mso-list-id:2072920899; mso-list-type:hybrid; mso-list-template-ids:-288569554 1344287282 67698691 67698693 67698689 67698691 67698693 67698689 67698691 67698693;} @list l0:level1 {mso-level-number-format:bullet; mso-level-text:; mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; text-indent:-.25in; font-family:Wingdings;} ol {margin-bottom:0in;} ul {margin-bottom:0in;} --> </style> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">"Finished" </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">and</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"> Glass Fish</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am in a small cabin with a bed, some spare furniture, and multiple doors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I want to do some exercises that require partial nudity, but 2 people are standing at the side door (stage right).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I can't see them, but I know they are there and I am afraid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I do not want to answer the door because I'm alone and scared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I do not think they have knocked; they are just standing there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Their unexplained presence is worrisome.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I prop a very flimsy small folding chair against the door and start doing exercises.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Later, Keith comes home, entering stage left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As I am telling him about the strangers at the door, I walk to the front door (stage rear), and look out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The two people are still there, now at the front door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I turn back to Keith and say, "They're still there!" and am wondering why they moved from the side door to the front door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">In anger and frustration tinged with fear, I ask them what they want.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of them, a woman (in black?), who seems to be in charge, says, "<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><u>You're finished!</u></i></b>"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">She says it in a deep, severe tone of voice, like a death knell, and I think she is death, come to take me away, and I am terribly frightened. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But she continues, "You can't even take care of the baby" (there is suddenly a baby in an old-fashioned wooden rocking cradle by the fireplace—my baby?) and then blah blah blah a whole litany of everything that is wrong with me—"you're fat, more than one hundred pounds overweight and deep in the throes of addiction, you're lazy, you're messy, you're defensive, etc etc etc on and on and on—[I can't remember everything she said, but it was all negative, all 'true' and the sort of thing I beat myself about.])</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am lying in a chaise in front of the open door where the woman is expounding my faults and shortcomings, and am half asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I ask sort of sarcastically, "what are you selling?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(I am thinking maybe she is selling some sort of miracle cure to all my problems—drugs—religion, meditation, something).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">No answer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I get up and look out the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>No one is there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The front porch is empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They've disappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Keith tells me that the woman used to be a kindergarten teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Her companion never speaks. 2-20-11</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">I wake up, go back to sleep, dream </i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am joyously riding in a glass fish that is swimming in the water and watching the colors in the glass change as it moves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I look up and down and all around—it's so incredibly beautiful and blissful. Then I am home thinking about painting what the world looks like from inside a glass fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I think it should be a movie, because it is in 3 dimensions, or it should be a sculpture you could get inside of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>2-20-11</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">What does this make you think of?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>the first dream was "negative" and upsetting, critical, scary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The second dream was full of light and beauty, uplifting, creative, engaging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It makes me think of yin and yang, of the ups and downs of life, of the creative process of living and dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Obviously it makes me think of death and dying.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>perhaps I have died after the first dream and the fish is my ride to heaven or heaven itself or some form of it.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>My grandmother died of cirrhosis of the liver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She may have been a drinker, but if so, I wasn't aware of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Cirrhosis of the liver is a now becoming a common cause of death by obesity, along with breast cancer, heart attack stroke, and a whole host of other health issues caused by obesity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The dream seems like a warning for me to do something about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But it doesn't tell HOW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(Other than deal with the addiction, but how?)</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Who is the baby?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have two biological children, a stepson, grandchildren, including a baby, and I also have my books (my book-babies).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Maybe I am not taking care of all the book-babies I've already birthed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Frog Haven</i>, for example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Story 16. The Herpetologist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Following Wolfie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Muddy</i>. Etc.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>If the woman who tells me I am finished used to be a kindergarten teacher, maybe she is trying to teach me something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Maybe she is trying to shock me into changing my lifestyle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But she doesn't actually TEACH anything; she just criticizes, like so many adults and teachers, parents etc.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>The fact that she disappears so suddenly when I ask the wrong question makes me think she is a spirit guide, and I need to listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But if so—perhaps she should speak more clearly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Give me some useful info.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Nearly asleep on the chaise—sleeping through my life, being in denial about (or not wanting to hear) all the criticisms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sounds like a negative abusive parent or spouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sounds like a child tuning out a parent!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But also, when I dream I am sleeping, it is partially an awareness that I actually AM sleeping.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>The glass fish makes me think also of Jonah and the whale, though it seemed that the glass fish was relatively small and I was also small.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And also of the great fish dreaming the world.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Maybe <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><u>I</u></i></b> am the baby I can't take care of—my inner child.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I wonder why I looked out the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">front door</i> for someone who I thought WAS at the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">side door</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In my life, am I looking for something in the wrong place?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eric says he was never a flasher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have many memories of him as a flasher, but who is to say my memories are right and his wrong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But why would I remember him as a flasher and no one else, and why very specific memories, very clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(Were they dreams?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I don't think so!)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> Mary Stebbins Taitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10626507461216769140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-59550917179675850852011-02-11T11:40:00.001-05:002011-02-11T11:40:45.051-05:00The Unconscious Boy, the unstuffed suitcase and the hissing boot<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">The Unconscious Boy, the unstuffed suitcase and the hissing boot<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>A woman is driving around calling for her son, a boy about seven years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He is lying unconscious on the floor in our livingroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Graham wants to stuff him in a suitcase and leave him for Keith, but I say no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The boy has special boots that blow up to form an insulating seal around the feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One of them has fallen off and it hisses and hisses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I pick it up and listen to it hiss, a very upsetting sound, and look for a switch to turn it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When I don’t find one, I open the front door, stick the hissing boot in the barren windowbox (painted white, bare dirt) and look up and down the street for the car with the woman so I can signal to her that we have her son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Friday, February 11, 2011</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I don’t know why the boy is unconscious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He is not dead.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I don’t know why I didn’t signal the mother sooner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She is out of sight now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I seem to be moving in slow motion, sort of frozen in place for a while.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I don’t know why the boy is at “our house”</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>the boy I call Graham seems to be my stepson, but is not clearly Graham</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>the father I call Keith seems to be my husband and the stepson’s father, but is not clearly Keith</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I don’t know why the stepson (Graham?) wants to stuff a live but unconscious boy in a suitcase and leave him for his father. We—Graham and I—seem to be leaving on a trip.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I think there was more to the dream before this.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo1"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I wake up very disturbed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The image of the boy in the suitcase and the hissing boot seem very ominous.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">What does this remind me of?<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>The bare window box where I stick the hissing boot makes me think of my mother’s house—the front porch and window box were just like hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My mother, however, was not present in the dream, unless “I” was her, which I didn’t seem to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The house reminds me not of the house I grew up in, but the house where my mother and father lived for many years after I left home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was the last house my mother lived in, and I lived in it only briefly twice, once when Sara was a baby, and then briefly after my mother died while I was sorting through her things and taking care of her will etc.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>The unconscious boy reminds me of Graham, who seems to go through life not conscious of much of his surroundings, needs, commitments, other people, their needs etc.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Graham’s wanting to stuff the boy in the suitcase reminds me of Graham’s violent video games</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Graham’s wanting to stuff the boy in the suitcase also reminds me of things I hide and have hidden throughout my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And things I hide from myself or others or refuse to look at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Eg: extra eating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I stick to my diet sometimes, and sometimes, I grab a handful of potato chips or something worse (eg chocolate.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am also “hiding” my past by not really revealing all of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This is in part because I’ve been told not to—that is Blake and various other people told me not to tell all about my “sordid” past, but just to go on cheerfully (yeah right) as if it never happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I used to want to “come clean” and tell people things that had happened or that I had done so there would be no secrets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Secrets, large and small.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m mostly not unwilling to tell Keith, for example, anything that happened, I just don’t want to burden him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I feel somewhat less willing to tell Brian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I feel as if Keith loves me, I feel safe with him <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">in that respect</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I still feel somewhat like a “bad” person with Brian.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I’d like to stuff everything bad in a suitcase and heave it off the back of a boat into the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>BUT the boy in the dream who is unconscious did not seem bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Just his one boot. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The left boot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Even though the unconscious child is a boy, he could represent my own lost inner child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(I was a tomboy who always wished I was a boy.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Perhaps I have stuffed my own unconscious (or memories or inner child) into a suitcase.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>The hissing boot reminds me of sounds I don’t like such as the vacuum cleaner, the exhaust fan in the kitchen and fireworks (etc). It is very ominous and frightening in some way.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>I often think I need to give myself a good <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">boot</i>—to get myself going or to punish myself.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo2"><span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">Ø<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>It could also represent death and dying (unconsciousness, being stuffed in a suitcase (grave).)</p> <!--EndFragment-->merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-28534453104049392902011-01-31T08:41:00.004-05:002011-01-31T09:03:51.904-05:00I'm Going to go Eat Worms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhWeYQMnZ7ggPmZTCik71G3qHOG0ojjnMOygHdh2dcU7wyTYIDKeVI502HWi53xzOlV9odiySheU3OBFQTdS-rO8pEwVWaRLhzz0OkAVziFC1SQGOoEQIhTfqoD6nrltnUune0w/s1600/Picture+9.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhWeYQMnZ7ggPmZTCik71G3qHOG0ojjnMOygHdh2dcU7wyTYIDKeVI502HWi53xzOlV9odiySheU3OBFQTdS-rO8pEwVWaRLhzz0OkAVziFC1SQGOoEQIhTfqoD6nrltnUune0w/s400/Picture+9.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568350030351464178" /></a><br /><b>“I’m going to go eat worms”</b><br /><br />A guy—someone I seem to know—turns into a grey squirrel. The squirrel at one point looks sickly. It seems as if the man turns back and forth from a man to a squirrel and back to a man. A book I am reading has predicted this. I am telling the guy about the book when he is in his human form. In his squirrel form, he skitters around the room or sits on a blanket grooming himself.<br /><br />At the Village Market, one of the men who works in produce and other areas who has been mean to me in the past is being nice. He offers to let me use his cart to take stuff home. The cart is, in some way, superior to mine. I say I will bring it right back. We are leaning close together and talking like close friends. (It is an intimate but not sexual moment.)<br /><br />I am eating worms—BIG night crawlers that are chilled in the fridge but still alive—I seem to crave them and they taste good to me. But I don’t like them to warm up and crawl around in my mouth. And it sort of bothers me a little that they are alive. (This was also predicted by that book I read (am reading).) 1/31/2011<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Somehow, this seemed to be all one dream and there were other parts to it, all strange, but this is all I can remember now. (I remembered more when I first woke up, but they faded away before I wrote them down).<br /><br />What does this make me think of, remind me of?<p></p><br /><b>The eating worms</b> reminds me of the song: “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I’m going to go eat worms, long slim slimy ones, short fat juicy ones, fuzzy-wuzzy wuzzy wuzzy worms. Every body likes me, nobody hates me, why’d I eat those worms? The long slim slimy ones, the short fat juicy ones, the fuzzy-wuzzy wuzzy wuzzy worms.” Perhaps I’ve been feeling lonely and friendless lately.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Eating worms</span> also reminds me of the cravings during pregnancy and the cravings I had when I was recovering from my last bout of illness. I was craving grapefruit, red peppers, and other foods (but not worms.) I ate the foods I was craving thinking that I might have depleted certain nutrients during my sickness. In the dream, I was thinking that the worms were good for me (nutritious), besides tasting good. However, being without friends is not good for me!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Grocery store employee</span> makes me think how I always wish that people I have to deal with (or even just see regularly) would be kind and courteous. After being mean to me once, he has in fact been nice to me several times. (This reminds me of my father—this guy has a small black cloud sometimes.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The guy who changes to a squirrel</span> reminds me of shamanism and my dream of the madman in the maze/labyrinth. But it also seems like a physical representation of a physical, mental or emotional problem or disease, since the squirrel seemed unhealthy. Some dream dictionary suggestions: Being highly efficient, productive or industrious, Moving too fast, Planning, saving or providing for the future, Hiding something or putting, it in a safe place, squirreling away, A person that is skittish, <span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;">unpredictable or difficult to handle</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"> ...</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><b>The book that predicts things</b> may mean that the dream is trying to<br />tell me something. (Changing back and forth into a squirrel is like<br />my father changing back and forth from a nice person to a black cloud,<br />except the squirrel was not a black cloud and did not have a black<br />cloud, the guy at VM did.)</span></b></p> <!--EndFragment-->merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-77844452289995014872010-09-08T10:17:00.003-04:002010-09-08T11:01:42.941-04:00Missing the Train<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSd63a2_rk8Telg1SuCg6i0bDeU3-5XKvnch0fYGs7xs0y3lTLAZetVJ3YEneaAgvvUjjCelAhL6z5TU1Zu8LL_rIos01-zWAf7xzMdEs2Ey-WEqvtbK5vUHqkPU3cGosBTkV1bg/s1600/Picture+204.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 365px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSd63a2_rk8Telg1SuCg6i0bDeU3-5XKvnch0fYGs7xs0y3lTLAZetVJ3YEneaAgvvUjjCelAhL6z5TU1Zu8LL_rIos01-zWAf7xzMdEs2Ey-WEqvtbK5vUHqkPU3cGosBTkV1bg/s400/Picture+204.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514557876046559154" /></a><br /><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-y04kI_p6ht6sUVSTCQsDw9F_rGGZ9QcfQBCjuds1g1AnAUYgvC2m1g9FyTqIXjNNC04pzsM96-5PtiW_dVb9G1dwjHok0QUC1k3oyx5c9kzRL0uBsVuAkfQ-2cw1MLOsq9Axg/s1600/dream+train+in+snow-741792.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-y04kI_p6ht6sUVSTCQsDw9F_rGGZ9QcfQBCjuds1g1AnAUYgvC2m1g9FyTqIXjNNC04pzsM96-5PtiW_dVb9G1dwjHok0QUC1k3oyx5c9kzRL0uBsVuAkfQ-2cw1MLOsq9Axg/s320/dream+train+in+snow-741792.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514546628817301042" /></a></p><b>Missing the Train</b><p>Keith and I are at some winter resort playing in the snow. Many other<br />people are also playing in the snow. We have all purchased tickets<br />for the train, which will take us further up into the mountains.</p><p>I slide down a very steep hill into a bowl of snow. When I reach the<br />bottom, I see that all the people have run up toward the top and are<br />disappearing over the edge and I know that the train is coming. I run<br />toward the steepest part of the hill, which leads to the train stop,<br />but it is very steep, like a cliff. I poke the toes of my boots into<br />the snow, but the snow has been melting and doesn't hold. My feet<br />keep slipping down. I call and call for help, but no one comes!</p><p>Eventually, I reach the top, but the train and all the people,<br />including Keith, are gone.</p><p>I go into the building through the back door, which is closest to the<br />hill where I came up. There are double doors with a room or entry way<br />between them (like in a darkroom), but someone has removed the handles<br />(knobs) from the insides of the center part of the double doors and I<br />am trapped between them. It takes me a while to pry the inner door<br />open. My mother is inside. She tells me the train will come back for<br />me in a little while and that she is making me pancakes for breakfast.<br />It seems I have not had breakfast yet.</p><p>I think I hear the train coming and rush out through the front door.<br />But once again, I am trapped between the two sets of doors. I pry the<br />outer door open by jamming my fingernails under the somewhat loosened<br />black screws that used to hold the handle, which has been removed,<br />just in time to see the blur of the train whooshing by. I yell and<br />wave my arms, but the engine is way past and it doesn't stop.</p><p>I sit on the ground and cry. My old college friend and lover, Chris<br />Burnett, appears, looking just as he did in 1970, forty years ago. He<br />sits in the snow beside me and I tell him the whole story of what<br />happened. I am crying. I am very distressed to not be with Keith on<br />the train into the mountains. I also feel abandoned by Keith,<br />although I realize that he thought I would catch the train when it<br />came around again.</p><p>After I have finished telling my story, Chris rolls over on top of me<br />and starts humping me gently outside my clothes. I say, "Do you want<br />to go to my cabin?" I am thinking about my mother inside the building<br />making pancakes for me. I am very hungry and the pancakes sound good.<br />I am thinking about Keith. Chris rolls over away from me and he has<br />a hard on and no pants (Earlier, I didn't notice him being nude from<br />the waist down). I notice his erect penis is small (and not is big as<br />Keith's!) and rather child-like and strange.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>I wake u p, disturbed that<br />I would offer to take Chris to the cabin I shared with Keith (and have<br />sex with him—that was the implication). 9-8-10</p><p>In my "real" waking life, I have not seen or heard from Chris Burnett<br />in nearly 40 years. Nor have I thought of him or dreamed of him in<br />that time, at least, not recently. I have no idea where he is, and if<br />he were to show up here, I doubt he would look like he did 40 years<br />ago, I doubt he would act like that, and I highly doubt I would invite<br />him to "my cabin" to have sex. (And of course, my mother is no longer<br />alive and I can't eat pancakes any more, due to my allergies).</p><p>Concerns:</p><p>• Missing the train—TWICE!<br />• Barriers to reaching my goals:<br />o the cliff<br />o the uncooperative snow<br />o the doors with no handles or knobs<br />• The missed breakfast with my mother<br />• The strange sex temptation (I have none in my "real" (waking) life)<br />• I miss my mother and the "unconditional love," acceptance and help<br />(and food) she provided me. (Not that I need the food).</p><p>Possible connections:</p><p>• Over and over, I keep having problems and barriers to completing my<br />work (writing) because of computer failures and other problems (health<br />issues, company coming, a variety of problems and issues to deal with,<br />lost manuscripts. I may be (I AM) afraid I will miss the boat (train)<br />with my manuscripts. And I might! [I got a form rejection from<br />Adams Literary. ]<br />• I keep having dreams of abandonment by Keith, but he has not<br />abandoned me as far as I know (two previous husbands did).<br />• (My mother's birthday was recently.)</p><p><br />I also dreamed about wolves earlier—they were like big old lazy dogs<br />lying in among a grove of skinny-ish trees and I rubbed my foot on<br />one, the way I would pet a familiar dog without bothering to bend<br />over. It had very thick fur. The coloring was also wrong; they were<br />like the Australian shepherds I used to raise, but they were supposed<br />to be wolves.</p>merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-73209460466569351322010-04-26T10:13:00.001-04:002010-04-26T10:13:22.756-04:00Pursuit in Mortal Fear<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpwnhPpFaxOj2c-LW_oXGNXV9RQNp-R6m4D5IjatKS5Jojxc6RFIc2nPFHsvVvs_BSbdz5zWpD2tQgFMhKLOmYvz7HP1GpzdQfmfeUFWMT2-4aIOWG6YgcPgKDniEkFBYmqR0IVQ/s1600/Picture+204.png-702756.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpwnhPpFaxOj2c-LW_oXGNXV9RQNp-R6m4D5IjatKS5Jojxc6RFIc2nPFHsvVvs_BSbdz5zWpD2tQgFMhKLOmYvz7HP1GpzdQfmfeUFWMT2-4aIOWG6YgcPgKDniEkFBYmqR0IVQ/s320/Picture+204.png-702756.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464449105676073858" /></a></p>Pursuit in Mortal Fear, Monday, April 26, 2010<p>Several men with guns (three?) who have already killed some people are<br>on the rampage wanting to kill more. They are chasing me/us. At one<br>point, I am in a school cafeteria warning people. We are temporarily<br>safe, but the gunmen are coming. I am mopping the floor. I crawl<br>under the table where the milk machine is to mop something that looks<br>like vomit. Then the gunmen arrive and we are all running again,<br>through the building, over and through fences, through the backyards<br>of nice suburban homes where we warn the residents, who are all out<br>enjoying their yards. More people join the fleeing mob. About 4-5<br>children of varying ages climb varying heights into a tree, and I say,<br>"get down, run, go for the woods—the have guns, they have rifles, they<br>can shoot you in the tree." We think we see some woods (where the<br>trees would offer some shelter), but when we get there, it turns out<br>to be a dead-end quarry with unscalable cliffs. (They are covered<br>with vines that from a distance looked like trees.) There are small<br>caves and tunnel-like holes and I stand with the others considering<br>what to do (terrified), worried the caves might be dead ends.<p>I wake up fearful and relieved to be awake and "safe."<p>Last night's reading may have influenced the dream . Blanco and crew<br>were chasing Ren, Amanda, Shackie, Croze and Oates. But I have lots<br>of these dreams even without the scary reading. Life is a fatal<br>disease. I don't want to die. Or suffer. I am fearful of what lies<br>ahead. (In this moment, I am OK.)merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-5221619492068457132010-04-24T08:26:00.001-04:002010-04-24T08:26:07.957-04:00The Boy with the Guns and the Burned-up Lady<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09CmDMIMY6DiOKdFlxKJ4O9qiBJtbrvuxw3IOhfSmwNtS34Vhyphenhyphen6UD1fTmCvgd5f2XWsPxEorgjCHP56E1lPMAZlf3BSuc0MpKk9TksqR_58VuxvdSIjGjUtX5a295eFRyKd2xjQ/s1600/Picture+198-767958.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09CmDMIMY6DiOKdFlxKJ4O9qiBJtbrvuxw3IOhfSmwNtS34Vhyphenhyphen6UD1fTmCvgd5f2XWsPxEorgjCHP56E1lPMAZlf3BSuc0MpKk9TksqR_58VuxvdSIjGjUtX5a295eFRyKd2xjQ/s320/Picture+198-767958.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463679299599690882" /></a></p>The Boy with the Guns and the Burned-up Lady, 4-24-10<p>1)The Boy with the Guns: A teenage boy has several guns and knives<br>and kills someone. He is a strange boy with a roundish body and long<br>thin but strong arms, a round face like a younger child. At first,<br>there are many people, but no one does anything, so I sit on the boy<br>and hold his arms and try to disarm him. The boy is very strong and<br>keeps getting away. Everyone else leaves, except Keith, and I keep<br>wrestling the boy to the ground and he gets away again. I get one gun<br>away and he gets another from a hidden holster. He wants to kill<br>Keith and me and is very angry and powerful. Over and over he escapes<br>and over and over I wrestle him down. I holler at Keith to bring<br>ropes to tied his wrists and ankles so we can call the police, but<br>Keith can't find any rope and comes back with adhesive tape but<br>doesn't put enough on and the boy immediately gets out and I wrestle<br>him down again and Keith applies more tape, but a little while later,<br>he escapes again. (The tape doesn't seem to stick well, and he<br>manages to peel it off.) This goes on and on and on. Keith does not<br>assist with handling the boy. He does not understand how strong he<br>is. I tell him over and over but he doesn't seem to believe me. The<br>boy also pulls a knife and later a third gun. I always seem to be<br>able to temporarily disarm him, but never get the final better of him<br>(never get him safely under control.) At one point, I am sitting in<br>a chair with the boy on my lap like a child (he is smaller at this<br>point), holding him like a child who is out-of-control. The boy's<br>brother comes in and sits down and we are talking to him. He is an<br>adult, but is very sick with some degenerative disease, so we cannot<br>get his help. He is unable to help us and we do not even tell him<br>that his brother has killed someone. It seems pointless to burden him<br>with this knowledge when he is so sick. The boy with the guns seems<br>crazy and somewhat unwell, but not in a way that affects his strength<br>or will.<p>2)The Burned-up Lady: A woman burns up from the inside, leaving only<br>a perforated shell (like thick aluminum foil) and a few small pieces<br>of charred bones rattling around inside.<p>* * * *<p>The second dream followed right on the heels of my waking up disturbed<br>from the first. After that, I was unable to go back to sleep.<p>The first thing that popped into my head is my struggle with addictive<br>allergies and food cravings, which can, in fact, be fatal, both<br>directly and indirectly. If the dream represents my food issues, I<br>don't know why a crazy boy with guns would represent it. But it would<br>explain why I am the one doing the wrestling. Or simply my struggle<br>with my weight, which alone could be deadly. It could also be my<br>brain tumor.<p>The burned up lady could be a hint about the first dream, or it could<br>represent my anger and my fears about it.<p>Everyone leaving during the crisis reminds me of the time the giant<br>boa was trying to kill me and Frank said, "Don't panic," and ran out<br>of the museum.merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16579416.post-43804961579078880202010-03-12T09:42:00.003-05:002010-03-12T10:02:30.459-05:00One Ski, Friday, March 12, 2010<p> <b>One Ski</b> </p> <p> </p> <div id="y6t7" style="text-align: left;"> <img src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dfd4sddw_658c5hsmdfh_b" style="height: 270.843px; width: 400px;" /> </div><span style="font-size:78%;">One Ski, illo by me, view it larger <a href="http://imagikart.blogspot.com/2010/03/one-ski.html">here</a>.</span><br /><p> I am with my father and my brothers staying at a ski lodge. I am feeling tired and low energy. As we leave to walk to the slopes to ski, I feel too tired to carry all my gear, so I take one ski. My plan is to leave it at the base of the slop and go back for the other ski and poles. The ski I am carrying is long, shiny and blue. </p> <p>As we walk toward the slopes, my father suggests we walk up for the first run, rather than taking the lift. I don't understand the value of doing this, but don't argue. Other people have been doing the same thing, punching their toes into the hard-packed snow along the side of the trail, so there is almost a stairway there. We start up. My father, one of my brothers and I walk slowly up the side of the very steep trail. One of my brothers is walking up the center of the trail (and is way ahead of me). I think that is a bad idea, because he might get hit by skiers coming down (though none seem to be at the moment) and also might damage the slope with his ski boots. I call, "Tom, come walk up the side," but it is not Tom, it is Bob. He is a young teen, still small, and skis gracefully and competently down to my side and starts up again on the side. </p> <p> I suddenly realize that since we are climbing the side of the very steep trail, that it is the expert trail, and I don't want to make my first run on the expert trail, since I am not feeling well. Then I realize I can't ski down with one ski; I need to go back to the lodge where we are staying and get the rest of my gear. I will have to climb back down the slope and should do so before I climb any higher. </p> <p> I go back to the lodge to get the rest of my gear, but there are a series of complicated problems that prevent me from getting what I need.</p><div style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color windowtext; border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1.5pt;"><p style="border: medium none;"> __________________________________________________________</p></div><p> I have HALF the gear I need to ski, 2 boots and one ski (3). I missing one ski and two poles (3). What is difficult to do that I am now trying to do with half the gear and not enough energy? Live? Love? Paint? Write? Heal? Keep house (clean)? </p> <p> The hassles at the end (which I now remember only as hassles and obstacles, but in the dream were fully detailed and complex), are very much like all the things that happen in my everyday life that keep me from accomplishing my goals. Family commitments and obligations, required phone calls, doctor visits, driving Graham around on a variety of wild goose chases, complex messages from Ellen Bowen that I have to waste time deciphering, etc. </p> <p> The skis in the dream are the skis I had as a teenager. And my brothers are teens and my father still vigorous and eager. But at that age, I wasn't tired (normally, unless I was sick) and would never have attempted to climb a slope with one ski—that's more like things that happen now. At the moment, I can't think of <i>anything</i> that happened then that resembled that, but it was a long time ago. Ski trips were something the four of us did together. My Mom stayed home at "Margaretto's Lodge" and kept the home fires burning and had a hot meal ready for us when we returned. </p> <p> I was sad to leave my father's skis in his basement when we sold the house. <span style="font-family:wingdings;">L</span> But I had no use for them, other than sentimental. I left all his books behind, too, including ones inscribed to him by his mother, my grandmother. <span style="font-family:wingdings;">L</span> And I left all my aunt's books in her basement. She wanted me to take them and love them, but I didn't. I was too overwhelmed at the time to even take one. </p> <p> Did something happen when I was 14 or 15 that's affecting me now? </p> <p> There was a period of time when I had ski dreams regularly. One of my repeating dreams was of trying to ski when there wasn't enough snow. Moving from patch of snow to patch of snow. I realize this dream is different, but there's a resonance—I am trying to do something without enough of what I need to do it and with many obstacles. (Why skiing?) I'm just not sure what it is and how it relates to my family of origin. </p> <p> And: <i>why walk when we could take the lift</i>? Later in his life, my father would not have suggested that. But we did do it, at his suggestion, in the early days, for some reason that I no longer recall. (It's not that I'm against walking for the sake of walking, but when skiing, why not take the lift?) </p> <p> In what way(s) in my current life am I not taking a lift that I could be taking? How am I attempting to ski on just one ski when two are available? How (or why) am I taking just one ski along when it would be more appropriate to carry 2 and be <i>prepared</i>? In what ways am I unprepared for what I am attempting to do? </p> <p> I don't know, but if I did, it might make an interesting poem because I love the metaphor of climbing a steep, expert ski slope with only one ski. (Am I failing as a poet because I cannot unravel this metaphor?) </p> <p> A factor in all these things <i>could</i> be time. This is because I try to do more than is humanly possible in a multifaceted life. I am not carrying enough arrows of time in my quiver of goals to accomplish them all in the face of the complexity of the obstacle course I have to run. (I am mourning my inability to finish new work for the current green show that I wanted to enter and my probable inability to submit an air poem to the contest I wanted to enter and all the novels I want to complete and send out.) I may need to wrestle my ADHD and my ultra enthusiasm and drive to accomplish to the ground and pick one or two projects I really want to accomplish and do <i>those </i>and put everything else on the back burner. I also need to do a better job of balancing LONG-TERM goals with short-term goals. I tend to concentrate on one to the exclusion of the other. </p> <p> BALANCE—that's what I need! You need two skis to be properly BALANCED! But I need a dynamic and changing balance to suit the variety of projects and interests and needs, family and personal. </p> <p> Or, maybe I just need to relax a little and not be quite so upset when I fail to achieve all my (sometimes unreasonable) goals. </p> <p> I would like to have a better system for prioritizing. Sometimes I waste time on petty or small goals or even distractions (ADHD!) and mess up on big important goals because of it. </p> <p> OR, I could, as some people have done, learn to ski down the expert slope on a single ski. (But unfortunately, that seems unlikely). (I'd have to lose weight to do that—and don't get me started on that as a metaphor or I'll never get my tasks done!)<br /></p> <p> </p> <p> Maybe I need to learn to Snowboard. Yeah, add that to my to-do. Snowboarding is a bit like skiing on one ski. Friday, March 12, 2010<br /></p> <p> </p>merrytaithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07389878391357276777noreply@blogger.com0