An Impulsive Mistake

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.

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.

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.

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

What does this remind you of?

The most powerful part of the dream is the business of catching the frog and feeding it to another frog.  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 did and shouldn’t have and some things I didn’t do but should have.  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.

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. (*)

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.  (*)

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.)

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  L)

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.

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.

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.

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.

The dream reminds me of

Ø  My love of and lifetime relationships with animals, good and bad.

Ø  My desire to be a fantastic teacher, writer, photographer, artist, singer.  And my failures.  AND some successes!

Ø  The academic community, my love for it, dislike of it.  My love of learning, my fear about Alzheimer’s/dementia.

Ø  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!)

Ø  How I used to love to swim but rarely do any more.

Ø  The bad things on the farm—I guess I said that, must be time to quit.

In the Looney Bin and Almost Lucid

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. 


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.



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. Ῠ  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



I wake up to discover I am in fact in bed, and luckily, I did not actually pee.


*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.



What does this remind you of:



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 reality is real?  And not just my dream or someone else’s?



Ῠ:  note that again, I had an opportunity to become fully “lucid,” that I came close to it, but failed to realize consciously (as opposed to simply consider) 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.



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.)



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.  



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.

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.  

Lessons

Lessons

 

 

Through cracks in the sea-shrunk boards of the shanty

flows danger-darkened air. Vapors billow, taint the room

with the smells of searot, putrefying fish and terror. I do not need

to open the door to know that outside, a sea witch waits.  Through

heavy oak wood, I see her clearly; her feet drift an inch above the step.

 

Her gown shimmers, glitters and floats around her in waves of blue,

green, and endless black.  Beside her stands her merman consort

with his scaly legs and sharpened trident.  Apprehension clings

to my skin like dirty spider webs, like decaying fishnets. I peel off

the slime of fear and flick it out the window, slam shut the opening

 

against invasion. I shutter myself as well, close my eyes, cover

my ears, sleep away the day. Hours later, when my husband returns

with his catch of the day, the witch and her companion still stand

at the door, waiting. Waiting.  Patient.  When I ask what she wants,

she says, "You are finished," and her voice reverberates

 

deep in the bones of my chest. She is a teacher, my husband

reminds me, but I dread her lessons. Like my mother, my father,

and all the men who claimed to love me, she enumerates my faults.

The baggage of my shortcomings pile on the floor around me,

as many and endless as waves on the sea behind her. But when I ask

 

what she is selling, thinking elixirs, miracle cures, redemption, she

and her silent green merman disappear, leaving the stoop empty

but for a sudden whirlpool. Twisting waters suck me in, twirl me

around, whisk me away. Now, with the same joy I find in flying, I ride

inside the belly of a fish as transparent as if made of glass. Through

 

the prisms of its scales, I watch, in exultation the passing coral,

yellow tang fish, clown fish and anemones in shifting kaleidoscopes

of sparkling light and color. If I broke open now, this rainbow

would paint your face, this laughter serenade your dreams.

 

 

 

Mary Stebbins Taitt

"Finished" and Glass Fish

 

I am in a small cabin with a bed, some spare furniture, and multiple doors.  I want to do some exercises that require partial nudity, but 2 people are standing at the side door (stage right).  I can't see them, but I know they are there and I am afraid.  I do not want to answer the door because I'm alone and scared.  I do not think they have knocked; they are just standing there.  Their unexplained presence is worrisome.

 

I prop a very flimsy small folding chair against the door and start doing exercises.

 

Later, Keith comes home, entering stage left.  As I am telling him about the strangers at the door, I walk to the front door (stage rear), and look out.  The two people are still there, now at the front door.  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.

 

In anger and frustration tinged with fear, I ask them what they want.

 

One of them, a woman (in black?), who seems to be in charge, says, "You're finished!"

 

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.

 

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.])

 

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.  I ask sort of sarcastically, "what are you selling?"  (I am thinking maybe she is selling some sort of miracle cure to all my problems—drugs—religion, meditation, something).

 

No answer.

 

I get up and look out the door.  No one is there.  The front porch is empty.  They've disappeared. 

 

Keith tells me that the woman used to be a kindergarten teacher.  Her companion never speaks. 2-20-11

 

I wake up, go back to sleep, dream

 

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.  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.  I think it should be a movie, because it is in 3 dimensions, or it should be a sculpture you could get inside of.  2-20-11

 

What does this make you think of?

 

Ø  the first dream was "negative" and upsetting, critical, scary.  The second dream was full of light and beauty, uplifting, creative, engaging.  It makes me think of yin and yang, of the ups and downs of life, of the creative process of living and dying.  Obviously it makes me think of death and dying.

Ø  perhaps I have died after the first dream and the fish is my ride to heaven or heaven itself or some form of it.

Ø  My grandmother died of cirrhosis of the liver.  She may have been a drinker, but if so, I wasn't aware of it.  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.  The dream seems like a warning for me to do something about it.  But it doesn't tell HOW.  (Other than deal with the addiction, but how?)

Ø  Who is the baby?  I have two biological children, a stepson, grandchildren, including a baby, and I also have my books (my book-babies).  Maybe I am not taking care of all the book-babies I've already birthed.  Frog Haven, for example.  Story 16. The Herpetologist.  Following Wolfie.  Muddy. Etc.

Ø  If the woman who tells me I am finished used to be a kindergarten teacher, maybe she is trying to teach me something.  Maybe she is trying to shock me into changing my lifestyle.  But she doesn't actually TEACH anything; she just criticizes, like so many adults and teachers, parents etc.

Ø  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.  But if so—perhaps she should speak more clearly.  Give me some useful info.

Ø  Nearly asleep on the chaise—sleeping through my life, being in denial about (or not wanting to hear) all the criticisms.  Sounds like a negative abusive parent or spouse.  Sounds like a child tuning out a parent!  But also, when I dream I am sleeping, it is partially an awareness that I actually AM sleeping.

Ø  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.  And also of the great fish dreaming the world.

Ø  Maybe I am the baby I can't take care of—my inner child.

Ø  I wonder why I looked out the front door for someone who I thought WAS at the side door?  In my life, am I looking for something in the wrong place?

 

Eric says he was never a flasher.  I have many memories of him as a flasher, but who is to say my memories are right and his wrong?  But why would I remember him as a flasher and no one else, and why very specific memories, very clear.  (Were they dreams?  I don't think so!)

 

The Unconscious Boy, the unstuffed suitcase and the hissing boot

The Unconscious Boy, the unstuffed suitcase and the hissing boot

A woman is driving around calling for her son, a boy about seven years old. He is lying unconscious on the floor in our livingroom. Graham wants to stuff him in a suitcase and leave him for Keith, but I say no. The boy has special boots that blow up to form an insulating seal around the feet. One of them has fallen off and it hisses and hisses. I pick it up and listen to it hiss, a very upsetting sound, and look for a switch to turn it off. 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. Friday, February 11, 2011

Ø I don’t know why the boy is unconscious. He is not dead.

Ø I don’t know why I didn’t signal the mother sooner. She is out of sight now. I seem to be moving in slow motion, sort of frozen in place for a while.

Ø I don’t know why the boy is at “our house”

Ø the boy I call Graham seems to be my stepson, but is not clearly Graham

Ø the father I call Keith seems to be my husband and the stepson’s father, but is not clearly Keith

Ø 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.

Ø I think there was more to the dream before this.

Ø I wake up very disturbed. The image of the boy in the suitcase and the hissing boot seem very ominous.

What does this remind me of?

Ø 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. My mother, however, was not present in the dream, unless “I” was her, which I didn’t seem to be. 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. 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.

Ø 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.

Ø Graham’s wanting to stuff the boy in the suitcase reminds me of Graham’s violent video games

Ø Graham’s wanting to stuff the boy in the suitcase also reminds me of things I hide and have hidden throughout my life. And things I hide from myself or others or refuse to look at. Eg: extra eating. I stick to my diet sometimes, and sometimes, I grab a handful of potato chips or something worse (eg chocolate.) I am also “hiding” my past by not really revealing all of it. 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. 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. Secrets, large and small. I’m mostly not unwilling to tell Keith, for example, anything that happened, I just don’t want to burden him. I feel somewhat less willing to tell Brian. I feel as if Keith loves me, I feel safe with him in that respect. I still feel somewhat like a “bad” person with Brian.

Ø I’d like to stuff everything bad in a suitcase and heave it off the back of a boat into the water. BUT the boy in the dream who is unconscious did not seem bad. Just his one boot. The left boot.

Ø Even though the unconscious child is a boy, he could represent my own lost inner child. (I was a tomboy who always wished I was a boy.) Perhaps I have stuffed my own unconscious (or memories or inner child) into a suitcase.

Ø 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.

Ø I often think I need to give myself a good boot—to get myself going or to punish myself.

Ø It could also represent death and dying (unconsciousness, being stuffed in a suitcase (grave).)

I'm Going to go Eat Worms

“I’m going to go eat worms”

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.

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.)

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

* * *

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).

What does this make me think of, remind me of?

The eating worms 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.

Eating worms 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!

The Grocery store employee 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.)

The guy who changes to a squirrel 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, unpredictable or difficult to handle ...

The book that predicts things may mean that the dream is trying to
tell me something. (Changing back and forth into a squirrel is like
my father changing back and forth from a nice person to a black cloud,
except the squirrel was not a black cloud and did not have a black
cloud, the guy at VM did.)

Missing the Train

Missing the Train

Keith and I are at some winter resort playing in the snow. Many other
people are also playing in the snow. We have all purchased tickets
for the train, which will take us further up into the mountains.

I slide down a very steep hill into a bowl of snow. When I reach the
bottom, I see that all the people have run up toward the top and are
disappearing over the edge and I know that the train is coming. I run
toward the steepest part of the hill, which leads to the train stop,
but it is very steep, like a cliff. I poke the toes of my boots into
the snow, but the snow has been melting and doesn't hold. My feet
keep slipping down. I call and call for help, but no one comes!

Eventually, I reach the top, but the train and all the people,
including Keith, are gone.

I go into the building through the back door, which is closest to the
hill where I came up. There are double doors with a room or entry way
between them (like in a darkroom), but someone has removed the handles
(knobs) from the insides of the center part of the double doors and I
am trapped between them. It takes me a while to pry the inner door
open. My mother is inside. She tells me the train will come back for
me in a little while and that she is making me pancakes for breakfast.
It seems I have not had breakfast yet.

I think I hear the train coming and rush out through the front door.
But once again, I am trapped between the two sets of doors. I pry the
outer door open by jamming my fingernails under the somewhat loosened
black screws that used to hold the handle, which has been removed,
just in time to see the blur of the train whooshing by. I yell and
wave my arms, but the engine is way past and it doesn't stop.

I sit on the ground and cry. My old college friend and lover, Chris
Burnett, appears, looking just as he did in 1970, forty years ago. He
sits in the snow beside me and I tell him the whole story of what
happened. I am crying. I am very distressed to not be with Keith on
the train into the mountains. I also feel abandoned by Keith,
although I realize that he thought I would catch the train when it
came around again.

After I have finished telling my story, Chris rolls over on top of me
and starts humping me gently outside my clothes. I say, "Do you want
to go to my cabin?" I am thinking about my mother inside the building
making pancakes for me. I am very hungry and the pancakes sound good.
I am thinking about Keith. Chris rolls over away from me and he has
a hard on and no pants (Earlier, I didn't notice him being nude from
the waist down). I notice his erect penis is small (and not is big as
Keith's!) and rather child-like and strange.

* * * *

I wake u p, disturbed that
I would offer to take Chris to the cabin I shared with Keith (and have
sex with him—that was the implication). 9-8-10

In my "real" waking life, I have not seen or heard from Chris Burnett
in nearly 40 years. Nor have I thought of him or dreamed of him in
that time, at least, not recently. I have no idea where he is, and if
he were to show up here, I doubt he would look like he did 40 years
ago, I doubt he would act like that, and I highly doubt I would invite
him to "my cabin" to have sex. (And of course, my mother is no longer
alive and I can't eat pancakes any more, due to my allergies).

Concerns:

• Missing the train—TWICE!
• Barriers to reaching my goals:
o the cliff
o the uncooperative snow
o the doors with no handles or knobs
• The missed breakfast with my mother
• The strange sex temptation (I have none in my "real" (waking) life)
• I miss my mother and the "unconditional love," acceptance and help
(and food) she provided me. (Not that I need the food).

Possible connections:

• Over and over, I keep having problems and barriers to completing my
work (writing) because of computer failures and other problems (health
issues, company coming, a variety of problems and issues to deal with,
lost manuscripts. I may be (I AM) afraid I will miss the boat (train)
with my manuscripts. And I might! [I got a form rejection from
Adams Literary. ]
• I keep having dreams of abandonment by Keith, but he has not
abandoned me as far as I know (two previous husbands did).
• (My mother's birthday was recently.)

I also dreamed about wolves earlier—they were like big old lazy dogs
lying in among a grove of skinny-ish trees and I rubbed my foot on
one, the way I would pet a familiar dog without bothering to bend
over. It had very thick fur. The coloring was also wrong; they were
like the Australian shepherds I used to raise, but they were supposed
to be wolves.

Pursuit in Mortal Fear

Pursuit in Mortal Fear, Monday, April 26, 2010

Several men with guns (three?) who have already killed some people are
on the rampage wanting to kill more. They are chasing me/us. At one
point, I am in a school cafeteria warning people. We are temporarily
safe, but the gunmen are coming. I am mopping the floor. I crawl
under the table where the milk machine is to mop something that looks
like vomit. Then the gunmen arrive and we are all running again,
through the building, over and through fences, through the backyards
of nice suburban homes where we warn the residents, who are all out
enjoying their yards. More people join the fleeing mob. About 4-5
children of varying ages climb varying heights into a tree, and I say,
"get down, run, go for the woods—the have guns, they have rifles, they
can shoot you in the tree." We think we see some woods (where the
trees would offer some shelter), but when we get there, it turns out
to be a dead-end quarry with unscalable cliffs. (They are covered
with vines that from a distance looked like trees.) There are small
caves and tunnel-like holes and I stand with the others considering
what to do (terrified), worried the caves might be dead ends.

I wake up fearful and relieved to be awake and "safe."

Last night's reading may have influenced the dream . Blanco and crew
were chasing Ren, Amanda, Shackie, Croze and Oates. But I have lots
of these dreams even without the scary reading. Life is a fatal
disease. I don't want to die. Or suffer. I am fearful of what lies
ahead. (In this moment, I am OK.)

The Boy with the Guns and the Burned-up Lady

The Boy with the Guns and the Burned-up Lady, 4-24-10

1)The Boy with the Guns: A teenage boy has several guns and knives
and kills someone. He is a strange boy with a roundish body and long
thin but strong arms, a round face like a younger child. At first,
there are many people, but no one does anything, so I sit on the boy
and hold his arms and try to disarm him. The boy is very strong and
keeps getting away. Everyone else leaves, except Keith, and I keep
wrestling the boy to the ground and he gets away again. I get one gun
away and he gets another from a hidden holster. He wants to kill
Keith and me and is very angry and powerful. Over and over he escapes
and over and over I wrestle him down. I holler at Keith to bring
ropes to tied his wrists and ankles so we can call the police, but
Keith can't find any rope and comes back with adhesive tape but
doesn't put enough on and the boy immediately gets out and I wrestle
him down again and Keith applies more tape, but a little while later,
he escapes again. (The tape doesn't seem to stick well, and he
manages to peel it off.) This goes on and on and on. Keith does not
assist with handling the boy. He does not understand how strong he
is. I tell him over and over but he doesn't seem to believe me. The
boy also pulls a knife and later a third gun. I always seem to be
able to temporarily disarm him, but never get the final better of him
(never get him safely under control.) At one point, I am sitting in
a chair with the boy on my lap like a child (he is smaller at this
point), holding him like a child who is out-of-control. The boy's
brother comes in and sits down and we are talking to him. He is an
adult, but is very sick with some degenerative disease, so we cannot
get his help. He is unable to help us and we do not even tell him
that his brother has killed someone. It seems pointless to burden him
with this knowledge when he is so sick. The boy with the guns seems
crazy and somewhat unwell, but not in a way that affects his strength
or will.

2)The Burned-up Lady: A woman burns up from the inside, leaving only
a perforated shell (like thick aluminum foil) and a few small pieces
of charred bones rattling around inside.

* * * *

The second dream followed right on the heels of my waking up disturbed
from the first. After that, I was unable to go back to sleep.

The first thing that popped into my head is my struggle with addictive
allergies and food cravings, which can, in fact, be fatal, both
directly and indirectly. If the dream represents my food issues, I
don't know why a crazy boy with guns would represent it. But it would
explain why I am the one doing the wrestling. Or simply my struggle
with my weight, which alone could be deadly. It could also be my
brain tumor.

The burned up lady could be a hint about the first dream, or it could
represent my anger and my fears about it.

Everyone leaving during the crisis reminds me of the time the giant
boa was trying to kill me and Frank said, "Don't panic," and ran out
of the museum.

One Ski, Friday, March 12, 2010

One Ski

One Ski, illo by me, view it larger here.

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.

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.

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.

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.

__________________________________________________________

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)?

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.

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 anything 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.

I was sad to leave my father's skis in his basement when we sold the house. L 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. L 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.

Did something happen when I was 14 or 15 that's affecting me now?

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.

And: why walk when we could take the lift? 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?)

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 prepared? In what ways am I unprepared for what I am attempting to do?

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?)

A factor in all these things could 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 those 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.

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.

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.

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.

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!)

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

Runaway Car

Pulled in two directions and being left behind by my car etc

(I dream that):

A huge gang of people are leaving on a trip from a big house and I
don't want to go, but they've taken my car and I have to go to try to
get my car back. Some guy has organized it, but my car is full of
other people and I am assign to a 4-horse cart—white horses. Somehow
in the dream, I know how to drive them. But I am thinking I will be
getting farther and farther behind from the my car, which as already
left—I don't want to go at all, but am eager to get going before the
car and the people are lost to me. Keith brings me a packed suitcase,
but it is a suitcase packed with junk. I send him back to get me some
stuff, my coat, changes of clothes, underwear, and he comes back with
them all loose, not in anything. Meanwhile, my assistant has released
the horses—am trying to instruct Keith and my assistant, no no, don't
release the horses until you are ready to leave. This whole thing is
turning into disaster. I want to stay with Keith and finish my
projects, but I need to retrieve the runaway car.

I think this is a stress dream from all the things I am trying to
accomplish and failing.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Synchronicity

I had another little synchronous event this morning.  A "silly" little thing, but just a reminder! I was doing exercises, counting (sit-ups) and listening to an audio book (Blasphemy!) and when I got to the 33rd sit up and was saying 33, 34, just exactly as I said 33 and then went on to 34, the audio book said, 33, 34, right with me.  And 33 is one of those numbers!

I have been having whole series of these events lately, and I am listening.  Quietly.

Erin's new old house (Dream) 090513

Erin's new old house (Dream) 090513

I dream Erin has purchased a huge old house with serious decrepitude, but has resources and plans to fix it up.  It's so big she has not explored it all, but has discovered a theater inside which at this point can only be accessed through a narrow trap door (it's on the second floor).  I theorize there must be an alternate way to get there and she agrees but hasn't found it yet.  She tells us, me and Sara, that she intends to restore the theater and use it.  I am eager to join Erin and Sara in exploring Erin's new house.  I return later and there is a woman there that Erin has hired as a housekeeper/guardian of the house and I am explaining who I am because Erin is not at home.  I tell her I fronted the money for Erin to buy the house, but am not sure this is true.  I wake up confused about that final point.

No Help for the Snake Bite (Rattlesna...

No Help for the Snake Bite (Rattlesnake dream/nightmare)

I am out in the distant "bush" on a work-related task when I encounter a snake. The snake comes after me, chases, attacks and bites me in the finger in spite of my efforts to elude it. I am in thick underbrush and cannot run. The snake is small, brown, and thin and does not look like a rattle snake (they are usually thicker, huskier). It is wrapped tightly around my finger and won't let go, and its tail is hidden in its coils. I try to remove the snake, but it is locked onto my finger. I manage to press the coils aside and I find the tail which has 3-4 rattles on it; clearly its a rattle snake and poisonous. I struggle and struggle and finally get it off and it tries to attack again, repeatedly. I am encumbered by the brush and thicket which I can barely press through let alone run. I escape the snake and realize of course that I must go for help (and abandon my work). After I press through more brush, I have to swim across a large body of water. It is choppy and dark. The sky is very "black" with threatened rain and I fear lightning. I am, however, proud of my ability to swim through all this. At first I swim hard, but then realize that the excess flailing with circulate the poison so I swim more gently.

I have now arrived back at work which is a school/museum. Many of my work friends and coworkers are there in a meeting and I tell them I've been bitten by a rattlesnake. They are joking around and telling me unrelated things having to do with work and with their personal lives. No one is listening or hearing me, that I have been poisoned and need help. I make a loud announcement to the whole group, which embarrasses me, but they still don't listen. I ask the security guard for help--but he also does not help, he is busy with his own problems. I call 911 and get the police station and the person who answers the phone cannot give me directions to get there. I am thinking I need to get to the hospital. I keep saying; it's been over an hour, I need to get to the hospital, but no one is helping me. Because the snake was small, I think it may not kill me, but it still could, some snakes are more toxic than others and I don't know what kind of snake this is/was. I wake up in a panicked dither.

Things I am saying in the first narration of the dream:

• I am being poisoned
• I am being attacked
• No one is listening to me or hearing what I am saying
• No one seems able to help me
• I am encumbered and held back by multiple barriers to getting help/healing (underbrush, water crossing, bad weather, lack of assistance, stupidity/ignorance, distractions)
• I am in danger

Since all the characters in the dream are parts of myself (as well as other people in my life who aren't helping, doctors etc), I need to look at how I am holding myself back from healing. And why. And how I can change this pattern.

My chapbook, In the Circus of my Sanity, was sitting on the dining-room table at PB's place and I moved it over to the other side of the table. BB must have been looking at it, reading it. It shows a picture of "me" wrapped up by snakes. This image, fresh in my mind from yesterday, could have influenced/"caused" this dream.

Possible extended meanings:

Since snakes can represent penises and sexuality, perhaps I am being "poisoned by my sexual experiences," e.g.: rape etc.

Snakes can also mean:

• transformation and healing
• possible betrayal or loss of money
• someone liking/being attracted to you.
• hidden fears and worries
• phallic temptation, dangerous and forbidden sexuality (as mentioned above)
• a person around you who is callous, ruthless, and can't be trusted
• knowledge and wisdom
• Goddess Worship/the old religion
• doorways or journeying/knowledge/wisdom healing/shamanism
• my own masculine energy--the ability to take action in the world
• a poisonous or toxic situation in my life (if it's a poisonous snake)
• and of course, they can mean other things as well, as personal symbols. A controlling person, a parent etc.

I have always liked snakes in waking life and am not normally afraid of them, but most of the snakes I've encountered have not been poisonous. I did get very close to and photograph a Massasauga rattler, but it looked nothing like the snake in my dream. They are very placid snakes and do not attack (most snakes do not attack unless cornered.

The dream could also be a warning about the dangers of therapy and getting into toxic or poisonous areas of my life/mind.

I have snake dreams fairly often. One I had recently took place in the water (subconscious?)

Of course, the snake, too, represents a poisonous part of myself--and I can be toxic to others as well as myself. I keep returning to snakes, like I do to eggs.

The Fallen Moon

The Fallen Moon, by Mary Stebbins Taitt. This is from a dream the
other night--actually from two dreams in early morning. The white fox
in the trees and the fallen moon were juxtaposed dreams, one after the
other.

Dream Poem "Backwards"

This poem is from a dream I had last week.  I had considered making a poem of it and didn't attempt it because it seemed too hard, but it continued to worry me, so I attempted it and here it is (danger, upsetting images!):

Backwards

 

Round, puckered and striated like a nipple, the fossil

hides among rocks on the mountain top.  I stroke it,

feeling the bumps and indentations in grey rock.

Limestone, perhaps.  Below, sky stretches, endless,

fading toward white.  It shimmers like the sea.  I call you

to see this ancient stone creature, knowing

how you like breasts, the soft roundness of them,

the responsiveness of nipples.  Not rock ones,

of course, but still, "come check it out." 

But you frown and step back, refuse to touch it,

and when I look back, I see, not a fossil,

but a dead girl, naked, lying deep in the rocks,

disintegrating.  An arm here, a leg there,

features half rotted from her skull, the nipple

just showing in shadow on the twisted torso

deep between the summit's rocks. 

 

Boulders shift and ocean now surrounds us.

We're on a breakwater, but no waves strike

the rocks.  The water is still, calm and blue as a summer sky.

We stare at the dead girl.  She's become intact and fully clad,

her clothes pressed and clean.  Her cheeks blush

with color, brightening.  She lies on top of the rocks,

no longer lost between them, and I'd swear I see her

breathing.  She's flung across a slanted rock

as if dropped there by great bird, head downward, legs up,

long brown hair draped down the rock toward the water,

facing the endless blue above.  We're on an island,

a shrinking island, no land in sight, only the glassy water,

the unmarred sky.  I'm surprised when I realize

she looks a lot like me, at maybe nineteen. 

 

Her eyelids flutter, and I awaken, in another century,

in a distant place, alive, and much much older.  Tears

dribble down my cheeks.

 

 

Mary Stebbins Taitt

090403-0930-2a, 090402-1757-1c, 090402, 1st 4:15 PM; from a dream last week

The Casks

The Casks

The woman watches Jesus play with the sun. He tosses it into the air
and catches it, throws it behind his back, bounces it like a rubber
ball on the yellow pathway through the lawns and parks of Heaven.
Through his body she sees trees, bushes and an odd black sky with
unfamiliar stars. Jesus shines translucent white, bright, but not too
bright. He bounces the sun, lifts his leg so that it bounces under to
the other side. It passes through the light fabric of his robe
unencumbered. He catches it, places it back in the sky above the
earth, and turns to smile at her. He offers her his hand and she
takes it. It is warm and feels like ordinary flesh, like her
husband's hand. Like love. They descend a long series of stairs into
the darkness. She thinks Hell, and when he opens the small oaken door
and ducks inside, the scene there does not dissuade her from that
fear. Dwarfs, elves, and monsters. Wormy things sitting on benches
and stools. The room glows red in spite of darkness; a huge fire
burns in the fireplace. Gargantuan oaken casks rise behind the bar
from floor to ceiling. Everyone talks, laughs, drinks. At the bar,
Jesus orders them each a drink. His glows yellow and she watches it
enter his body, which brightens and shifts to a yellower hue. She
tips and rolls her glass, sniffing. It smells of chocolate, coffee,
and raspberries, tastes like roses. It makes her terribly sleepy, and
she awakens, of course, in bed. Her husband snores loudly. She wants
to rouse him and tell him her dream, but knows he will dismiss it.
'Just another dream about death,' he would probably say. She might
elbow him sharply for that unspoken comment if it weren't for that
glowing hand on her shoulder. Instead, she accepts another drink and
goes off to explore the future.

Mary Taitt
090309-1012-3a, 090308-2236-2a, 090307-2110-1c, 090307-1122 first

This is a new PROSE POEM from two back-to-back dreams.

Here are the dreams:

Jesus with the ball

I dream that Jesus is bouncing a yellow rubber ball and it goes through his robe under his knee (which he lifts as part of a bouncing game he is playing. The ball passes through unencumbered. Jesus is bright white, his face, clothes hair, everything, and half transparent (translucent). There is a scene around him, but it too is somewhat pale--a sunny yellow walk, trees bushes and grass.

At the Dwarf Bar

I dream that I am at a dwarf bar which is full of dwarfs, elves and a variety of other beings, some quite strange. The bar is all made out of oak, oak bar, oak walls oak tables and chairs. There are HUGE oaken casks behind the bar as tall as the whole room. There is a lot going on. My attention begins with a group at the bar and sweeps along the bar and then around the room. I hear conversation but cannot remember it now.

When I wake up, it seems incongruous and somehow wrong that this dream followed on the heels of the other. One light, one dark. Not that there seemed necessarily to be anything wrong going one, although some of the beings I saw seemed a little scary. (A bit monstrous.) There was a sense that something could be going wrong there, but I did not feel certain of it--there were conflicting feelings of enjoyment and foreboding. I am not sure I am articulating this well. The scene seemed fairly happy. But strange, a bit frightening and incongruous in contrast to the previous dream.

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