Saturday, April 09, 2011

Holding on to Dreams

Last night I dreamt in parables.

I woke up but the body wanted to keep sleeping. I had that numb shaky feeling that movement wasn't ready, so I let myself slip back into sleep and from there I was forced into dreams. Dreams were happening too me, but I felt as if I had not properly agreed to them.

I am in a house talking to a girl. She is beautiful and slender with blonde hair in a bun. I am attracted to her. I find myself staring at her, and how her nipples stand upright and poke through the thin fabric of her tank top. She touches my face, I respond. We walk on a sidewalk outdoors. She is dressed in grey, the color of the sky. We walk and I realize the world is full and full and full of water, or the potential for water.

We are indoors and I notice the debris floating by. I ask her

“Were you always a rain goddess?”

She smiles and we float away. She points to the debris in the water, how as the water rises people move in further to catch what little they can hold on to, and in the end everything is washed away.

“Were you always a rain goddess?”

She smiles and tells me to let go.

“Hold on to nothing.”

She wants to tell me a story, but as she tells it, the story becomes a dream and I watch as it is constructed. She tells me:

“There is a man, see him. He had a child; look at the child.”

The child is red and rosy and lies on his belly in a bed as the man watches him full of sadness.

“He has been instructed by his gods. Listen.”

And the God says to the man “Do not touch the child. Do not hold the child. Do no caress the child. And above all things do not name the child.”

The man nods his head to the God. He looks at the child, but sadness fills him. He is with the child a long time. He moves close to the child on the bed. Lays next to the child. Breathes the child in, is warmed by the child’s warmth. He is thinking. I can hear him thinking.

This is not rational. A God who tells me this is not rational. Here is the child. The child is a rational thing. It is the beginning of rational. The child is true. The God is not true. It is my child. It is a rational creature. I am a rational creature.

He reaches out his hand and he touches the child. The touch fills him with clarity. He understands love in that moment. He names the child. In the moment of naming he is filled with horror. It is clear in his eyes, his mouth and eyes are wide with it. He touches the child.

“You see the man,” she says to me. “He could not let go.”

The man sits on the floor next to the bed. He has a quill and paper. He dips the quill in his own blood and writes: I am J.S. He weeps. He writes. It is not his story. These are not his words. He is nothing, anymore, but a scribe, and he will write the child, and the child’s life and he will suffer for it.

“Hold on to nothing.” She says to me…and I wake up with the after image of the man leaning on the bed, and the words in blood on paper.

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