Sunday, January 14, 2007


My dreams were dark this morning and poured over me so that I feel I must write about them to understand them even a little. It's an odd thing dreaming. Sometimes dreams hit me so deeply that I remember them for decades and can still spin on the memory incarnation. Sometimes they fade immediately upon waking and there is nothing but sleep and the need to curl deeper under warm blankets and forget the days. Sometimes they are nightmares that will not let me sleep, make me feel wakeful for an eternity; make me fear the nights slumber when it comes again.

This dream I have last night it plays off of old nightmares. Storms. I dream vividly two nightmares that occasionally reoccur. The first is the dream full of storms, tornados that will chase me into dark basements where I will fear to leave. I know they are just waiting for me, twisting and twirling outside those doors waiting and I'll be sucked into it and never heard from again. The other is water. Floods and torrents of water that wash over and destroy everything and everything.

Last night I dreamt of the flood, oceans of dark water coming for me. It has been a long time since I've dreamt the flood, maybe a year. I can recall the last one and I know it was just as I was about to leave my last job that I dreamt the flood so I know it's been at least a year. The flood is dark and cold and wants to take me away.

I close my eyes and in my sleepy somnambulant state I find myself in my apartment lying naked in bed, safe, secure, snuggled warm, happy, I want to be happy, and believe I'm happy, but then I sense it. The flood is coming and I can feel it in the very core of my being, water coming to wash everything away. I look outside and I can already see it rivers, torrents of black water washing over everything. There is nothing left, but my small apartment door and the big wide world is drowned in the flood. I close the door. I know what I must do.

In my heart I want to save two things, I want to save the people I surround myself with. This is important to me. I want to save my things. That materialistic nature has wormed it's way into my nighttimes again and I dream of the things I put into my life as replacements for all the things I've left behind. I want to save these things. I know what I must do.

I bring them into the kitchen. The people first. I stack them up like firewood on the floor. It's okay, It's okay, I whisper to them in my dream, this will save you. And I keep saying this as I light them on fire and watch them burn, quickly, cleanly, until nothing is left but the smell of burnt wood. They burn like wood that has aged a hundred years, blue flames, burning hot leaving nothing but dust, not even a scorched mark upon my floor. The people are gone, destroyed in puffs of spiritual flame and somehow in their destruction I know they are safe. They do not scream as they burn, maybe that it is.

I look then to the things. The things I want to keep. I begin to gather them up. Some are more important then others, but as so many things in my life I look for those objects that have history written on them in the hands that handled them, my own fondness, their traveling, their coloring, the effect upon my mind, my body, my hand. I gather the things that penetrate my thoughts most deeply and bring them together upon the floor of my kitchen and douse them in candle wax and toss the candles in. They have to burn or I will lose them. Everything must burn.

I feel it then, water coming in under the door, tickling at my toes, my feet are slowly becoming wet and I know the flood is winning and I'm losing. I find my lighter and start to light, but nothing happens. The material possessions soak with water, fill, swell, and won't catch light. I light a candle and toss it in and nothing, and the floodwater is coming now. I open the door to the small heater room off the kitchen and I can see black waters moving in the darkness and I know its coming. There is flotsam and jetsam tossing about in the swirling and I'm afraid that I won't beat the waters to the things that I want to keep. I find lighter fluid and douse the objects and try to light them again. Nothing happens and my lighter stops working.

A box of matches appears. A box that someone had given me at some time, hands are familiar but the faces in a distant past and won't reveal. I look at those hands and take the box of matches, but when I look up the holder is gone, disappeared, no longer anything but memory, taken away with the flames that burned up the people, but still there, throbbing, pulsing, beating in my mind all the same.

I throw match after match, and now the water is at my hips and I have not been able to burn anything. I spin, I turn around and there is nothing but water. I claw at it, reaching out, reaching up for air, but I cannot swim and my feet are locked to the ground, I will not leave this place. I did not destroy it all and so now I am trapped under it, to drown in it and everything.

The water swells and rises grey moving swiftly and carrying so many things on it, and then I wake up.

No comments: