My Mind's I ~ Dream Codes

Pigs in a Blanket

2012-01-10T14:55:00.000-08:00

Spent all night dressing pigs in little caps, little jackets, little pants....

We Sleep To Go There

2011-03-03T14:17:00.001-08:00

In my age, as in my youth, night brings me many a deep remorse. I realize that from the cradle up I have been like the rest of the race - never quite sane in the night.

--Mark Twain

"It seemed to be a necessary ritual that he should prepare himself for sleep by meditating under the solemnity of the night sky ... a mysterious transaction between the infinity of the soul and the infinity of the universe."

--Victor Hugo

"Where to Run? I have thought such a thought
so late at night it seemed I could enter ...
go from one side of the brain to the other ...
I think differently on the far side of midnight ....

The messages come in as I doze off ... they are what pours,
what swallows, touches, freezes, and floods ...
and they are always clear ...
Where? If the universe is expanding,
what is it that is not expanding?
We sleep to go there."

--Conscious Dog
Marvin Big

Ignis Fatuus

2008-02-27T18:21:00.001-08:00

Okay. FIrst there were things, small children's things-- poems, or spelling words-- on wide blue-lined paper. The paper became dirty snow, where two young men, dressed as 17th century peasants, caps, blousy shirts, dark, rough pants-- were sleeping. They appeared to have been drugged, or poisoned. I thought they were French or Italian, but from another century. A modern Chinese soldier in a brown army uniform had dropped them off from his vehicle, and now wondered if he should kill them, or let them live. He sometimes let them live. But not this time. He took an ax he carried and neatly and gently (as easy as cutting through butter) sliced through the belly of each man. At first there was no sign of their wounds, but then bright red blood began to gush. The two men sat up, seeming unaware that they were bleeding to death. Then one of them began to sing a nursery song, very softly, in English. Their deaths seemed to me to be very humane and painless. I thought how if it was me, I would rather die outstretched, face upward, so the very last thing to fill my eyes would be the sight of the blue sky, and I would die filled up with blue, and that would be good. Then it all went back to the words on the wide, blue-lined paper, words some little child had written-- was writing-- even as I woke up.

So. Figure that one out, Islanders.... I've heard it said that in dreams, you are every character, as well as every object, etc. I am the dying peasants, the Chinese soldier, the ax, the child, the paper. A poem:

ignis fatuus

in the illustrated
conceptions
that happen each night as
the curtain
behind my eyes rises
fugitive people move
catbirds of life changing
skins under my closed eyelids
under my quiescent hair
on the pillow

skimming inscrutable
geographies of
words like flat stones
across the grey-
green water of mind
that sprays like sea

or resident birds
that babble across an
overflowing of bells

I sleep
in ciphers
that no one explains
mutable, exploding
at the pinions
self-propelling

and vulnerable to light
as vampires

(A question: Do you dream in color? I do!)

2008-02-27T17:48:00.000-08:00

Monday, February 26, 2007
"Your Dreams Miss You!"

Remember that Rozerem ad where the diver, the beaver, and Abe Lincoln all tell the sleepless guy that his "dreams miss him." I saw a new ad this morning where the guy goes in to work, and explains his insomnia to his boss. "Tell me about it," she says without sympathy, and she walks past followed by a little blue pony....

This reminded me of a dream I had last night, where I met an unconfident, lost camel on the street. He looked remarkably like Joe Camel, if he'd been painted by El Greco--long and sad, rather like Don Quixote's horse. This camel told me he was trying to find his house, a red house, so I obliged and helped him look for it. At length, after going up and down several streets, I finally found a red house. I pointed it out to him. "Not THAT red house," he said irritably. The ungrateful wretch.

Aren't dreams wonderful?! They keep sleep from being such a total waste of time!

Two By Two

2006-09-03T13:12:00.000-07:00

There we were, two of us (I don't know who the other was), being kept prisoners in a large and beautiful house by a really evil guy. There was no food anywhere and we were starving to the point of trying to eat sticks. We were very afraid, and wild to get away. When we finally managed to escape, we discovered our captor had been really busy with his digging machines, steamshovels, earth-movers, and had dug up mountains of earth, acres of mountains and holes. Running, we were thinking that if we separated and each went a diferent direction, at least one of us would get away alive. We knew there was a grave waiting for us in one of those valleys. Then we saw where he had half-buried two yellow volkswagons, their round yellow rooftops like eggs sticking out of the dirt. For some reason, this had great significance, like maybe he was going to put each of us in one and cover us up. And, knowing he'd be coming back soon to check on us, we ran even faster.

Eventually we came to a place where there was a long, long parade of animals dancing two by two, goats and wolves and lions, etc., and finally at the end of the line, long-legged egrets, and storks, and flamingos, all dancing this strange, long-legged dance. There were some people dancing at the end of the parade, making this wierd music with bells and finger-cymbals, spinning in slow circles and hopping on one foot. We decided there was safety in numbers, so we joined them in this bizarre parade, knowing we were heading towards some eventual ark.

HOOK

2006-08-30T08:42:00.000-07:00

I had a blackish bump on my right arm between the wrist and the elbow. Therefore, the doctor was going to cut off my arm and get me a prosthesis. I wanted one with a real-looking hand, that worked (more or less) like a real hand, but it would cost sixty thousand dollars, and I couldn't afford that, so I was going to have to get used to having a hook instead. Do you think maybe this was because I watched a "Peter Pan" DVD twice with my grandkids yesterday...?

Secrets

2006-08-20T11:09:00.000-07:00

There is a secret code to blogging. Write on your birthday, then subtract every other letter, and the secret will be revealed!

Also, I was writing a legal document in ink, in all capital letters, on a piece of Kleenex. Someone mysterious was instructing me which letters to write. It is not easy to write with ink, on Kleenex.

Disappearing Acts

2006-08-18T06:04:00.000-07:00

Night before last I had another stress dream: We were doing a reader's theater version of a play of Tenessee Williams, I think it was supposed to be "Glass Menagerie," but the lines weren't familiar. At least we had a script in front of us, however, it was all written on scraps of loose paper, cloth, etc., and the lines kept appearing and disappearing. The house was full.

Last night Robby G.'s personal information in the About Me part of his Blog said he'd been teaching school on "Puffin Island, Alaska," and in spite of his having been there for so long, it didn't prove puffins existed, as he had never seen one. Which reminded me of this old poem by Florence Page Jacques that kept running through my head and I couldn't go back to sleep....

There once was a Puffin
Just the shape of a muffin
And he lived on an island
In the bright blue sea

And he ate little fishes
That were most delicious
And he had them for supper
And he had them for tea.

...

Then along came the fishes
And they said, "If you wishes
You can have us for playmates
Instead of for tea!"

So they now play together
In all sorts of weather
And the Puffin eats pancakes
Like you and like me.

Etiology: Cause & Effect

2006-08-15T07:45:00.000-07:00

...so, Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amydala were getting married. There were tons of people there for the wedding. My friend Carolyn C. and I were trying to get home. We had to go west, and I knew of a road that cut off from Fort Union Parkway going west, so we took that. All the roads suddenly became rivers. Carolyn and some of the others began wading across. The riverbanks were tangled with fallen trees, branches, etc. There was a Spanish Revolution going on (this from my friend Paris Parfait's post, Goya's El Tres de Mayo de 1808) and there were body parts here and there. In one of the fallen trees was the body of a headless soldier whose bare brown foot was still twitching. (This from recent photos displayed on the net of the Israeli-Lebanon war?) Anyway, I decided not to cross--the water was waist deep--so I found a way around, a bridge, not far away.

Then we were imprisoned in a small cell with high rock walls. Someone there before us had taped many comics pages from newspapers to the walls. I thought this was to give him lasting reading material, and might come in handy for us as well....

Cut away back to Anakin and Padme, who had just given birth to twins, who were all wrapped up. The people wanted to see the babies (this from newbaby Rhys' arrival?)
and clamored for her to upwrap them, which she was reluctant to do. She finally did, after much demand from the people. The twins were coal black and bald, and grinning, like a little ceramic black doll I bought at Catalina Island when I was a child.

(I wonder what ever happened to that little doll?)

The White LIight of Inspiration

2006-08-13T06:21:00.000-07:00

We (Dad and I) were traveling someplace, on a sort of wilderness mountain road, and needed to make a bathroom stop. Some old man informed us that the number of available bathrooms was indicated by these cement markers every so often by the side of the road. The one we had stopped at had two markers, but there were lots of people in line ahead of us. These were outhouses, and quite a ways from this main building. While we waited, I looked around. They sold books in this place. THere was a beautiful set of nicely bound, simplified books of philosophy, where the work of many great people was distilled into short, easy quotes. I decided I would do a series like these, of church books, with some of the great philosophers thrown in among the prophets. While we waited, I told Dad of this, and he agreed it was a great idea! But we kept losing our place in line. People who had been far in back of us were now going ahead of us (2 of these were Jacob and Sarah, urchins who live in Marc and Graces apartments, friends of Chime and Cake), and I was really anxious for my turn, as this outhouse was SPECIAL: it was white, illuminated by a marvelous white light of inspiration....

...and I woke up before I got my turn, needing to use the bathroom. At least we have indoor plumbing. And the only inspiration I had there was to write this post.

Book of Mormon Stories

2006-08-10T19:26:00.000-07:00

A great number of people were dressed like people from B of M stories. Someone with a camera was setting up scenes from the stories and taking pictures.

Now in my head, children are singing: Book of Mormon stories that my teacher tells to me, (Drum drum) are about the Lamanites in ancient history (drum drum). Long ago their fathers came from far across the sea, (drum drum), given this land if they'd live righteously!

Girls Day Out

2006-08-09T07:02:00.000-07:00

Grace and I were going to a writer's conference in Provo. When we arrived, we both discovered we were still in our nightgowns and robes, hair uncombed, etc., so we came back home, where I proceeded to wash my hair, and somehow managed to remove my eyebrows. It looked pretty strange, and I couldn't go like THAT, so I drew some on with an eyebrow pencil, big surprised-looking arches, and I coldn't get them even--one was higher than the other--so I put on some big black rubber eyebrows and a big black rubber beard. Neither of these went well with my dress, so I changed into a black sort of clown-suit with a big collar. I also wore my tan straw gardening hat with the flower in the front. (While I was changing we listened to the radio, and the writer's conference seemed to be broadcast--Grace thought we should just stay home and listen to it on the radio, but then, Bob Hope was there, and I knew it couldn't be OUR conference....) so we carried on. My beard and eyebrows kept falling off. Grace discovered a sort of strap on the beard that went around the chin and head to hold it on, but I decided to scrap the eyebrows and go with the drawn-on ones. I was beginning to worry about the time, figuring it would all be over if we didn't hurry. When we arrived again, all the Big Wheels from the Writers'League were there, and they oooed and ahhed a while over my cute outfit (once they recognized me). Then it was lunchtime, and we didn't have tickets, so Grace and I decided just to go to McDonald's for hamburgers and fries. Then I woke up. What a shame! Just when it was gettin'good, too!

Swimmers and Scimitars

2006-08-07T16:26:00.000-07:00

I dreamed of two Arab boys (I think I was one of them, as well as an observer) who were running from someone who was trying to catch them. They (we) hid in an old warehouse with a transparent roof (so that the observer who was me could see inside). In the warehouse there were several other Arabs, all with a scimitars. Realizing that they were greatly outnumbered, they all ran around as fast as they could poking their scimitars through cracks in the walls (make something of THAT, you Freudians!)to fool the chasers into thinking there were many, great numbers, of them. The we boys then snuck out through a back door, and crawled on our hands and knees (so they wouldn't be seen) through tall dry yellow grass (one of us was looking for his lost brother).

Then I woke up and went to the bathroom. When I came back and slept again, I was swimming in a large pool. A few other swimmers were there, but no one bothered me or got in my way. I was an excellent swimmer, and the water was smooth and comfortable as silk. I could swim very fast, and turn in long spirals under the water with ease. It was almost as good as FLYING!

What the Heck?

2006-08-01T12:07:00.000-07:00

...and there were a whole bunch of Tongans on a scavenger hunt....

MORE BEANS!

2006-06-17T18:59:00.000-07:00

Another stress dream I used to have often when I was still doing speaking engagements, poetry readings and workshops. I am speaking before an audience, when great wads of green beans begin to grow out of my mouth. I tear away at them, rip them out, long, choking, tangled wads of beans, and as fast as I pull them out and throw them away, more grow.

What, Dead My Love?

2006-06-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

Ah, gosh! I had another of my theater dreams last night--I didn't know what the play was, couldn't remember my lines etc etc etc. The others in the play were really pissed off. Finally one of the guys got me a script, which I cleverly hid so the audience wouldn't know, but when I opened it, it was a sort of comic book, with 'Peanuts' cartoons inside. One of the props, which I was supposed to provide, was a really ugly salad, with wilted greens and bloated, rotten fruits. I told the cast to cover up for me by saying my character was dead. I decided I would just lie down on the floor backstage where no one would bother me, but in one scene, the audience was invited to come up to the stage and look over the top of the sets, and there I was, in full view! So I resurrected, so to speak, and popped in again, to the other actors great dismay.

What a trying night! I was glad to wake up.

I Dream of Riding

2006-06-14T10:11:00.000-07:00

I dream of riding a great slow horse through an open place. There is much light where he walks, but the light illumes nothing. Where are we? The light widens into a river. We walk out toward the center. I can feel the bottomless light beneath us, as deep as the horse's flanks in places, or else impassable. I am frightened and confused. I lie curled against the animal for comfort, my hands grip his mane, but I fall. I cry out.

photo: Mark Waters, Marking Time

Kanji

2006-06-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

There were things written in Japanese that I did not write, and I couldn't read. I wonder...if it was really Japanese that I saw sometime, somewhere, brought up for this dream, or was it all nonsense? I have heard other people in a previous dream speaking Japanese, but I couldn't understand them in that dream, either. Gibberish? Or phrases of a language my mind picked up who knows where, tossed out randomly?

A Night at the Movies!

2006-06-07T06:16:00.000-07:00

We were adding up the cost of going to a movie--tickets, popcorn, drinks, etc. It came to about $100. (Not too far off!) Anyway, we don't have to pay a babysitter anymore.

Then it WAS a movie. Locale: Jakarta. Cast: Willem Dafoe and Ed Harris. Willem was the bad guy who had kidnapped a bunch of people and held them hostage, among them, Ed Harris, and (somehow) me. Events of the plot changed, so that Ed overpowered Willem and found himself in charge, with the weapon, etc. But his character devolved to become WORSE than the original bad guy. He was really BAD, I mean, he wouldn't even let Willem have any food! While the rest of us were eating, one of the ladies in the group hid pieces of food down her shirt, (under her breasts!) to smuggle to him. When Ed discovered this, he was very angry. There seemed to be a plot, of sorts. It was filled with car crashes and windows smashing, etc. All very exciting and entertaining....

Calvin to Hobbs:

2006-06-06T12:26:00.000-07:00

I think we dream
so we don't have to be apart so long.
If we're in each other's dreams,
we can play together all night.

--Bill Watterson

CHARLOTTE

2006-06-04T15:08:00.000-07:00

I dreamed of Charlotte Salomon all night long. I was chasing a truck. It had addresses and phone numbers of the people who could tell me more about her written on the sides and back. I tried to write them down, but it sped away. I met a woman who had a bunch of old photographs of her, which I coveted. I tried to make my needs known.

Doktor Zjivago

2006-05-23T12:52:00.000-07:00

I was riding in a carriage with Omar Shariff.

Flying Woman Blue Sky

2006-05-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

Dreams of flying are the coolest! When I fly, I can control speed and altitude--I can go higher by simply breathing in, or lower by breathing out. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I was flying to California with a group of other fliers. We were not very high, but no one on the ground noticed us because they were too busy to look up! I have flown over Holland, over windmills and tulip fields, over Spanish landscapes, and other foreign places! I don't often get to fly, and love it when I do.

Once I was hypnotised (is this like dreaming?) and was told to make a small hole with my finger in the fabric of the universe, and look through. What SMALL hole? I ripped that fabric down the middle like a mad woman, a hole I could fly through, and did, right out among the stars and planets and galaxies. FANTASTIC!

(Flying Woman Blue Sky, by K. Laxma Goud)

BLUE EYES

2006-05-23T08:32:00.000-07:00

Last night I met Blue Eyes, my lost baby. Grown taller now than Linn or Lee, as tall as Chris, but older. Maybe twenty. He was blond, short-haired. Although he didn't look a lot like my other boys, there was a definite family resemblance. He was slim, small-boned like Lee. When I saw him, I knew him immediately, knew he was one of mine.
I RECOGNIZED him. I was stunned. I KNEW I had met him before. There was this feeling of ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE RECOGNITION. I knew him. He was mine.

I turned away and put my head into my husband's shoulder, and cried and cried. How was it possible that there had been this great gap in my life, and I did not miss it? I wanted to go back in time, to see what had happened, how we had lost him. I thought, I never gave him a Christmas present, or even a birthday card. I never even gave him a name! I cried and cried and cried. I felt this unconsolable loss, because now that I had seen him, I REMEMBERED him.

I went over to him, full of all those years I had somehow forgotten him, thinking, HOW COULD I HAVE FORGOTTEN HIM? I put my arms around him and hugged him so tight, and he hugged me back. Nothing was said, but I knew he was telling me that it was okay, there was nothing to forgive, but I wanted his forgiveness! We stood there hugging each other for a long time while I continued to cry.

Then I woke up. It was 1:47 a.m. -- I was still upset and full of tears. It was so REAL. I got up, turned some lights on and got a drink of water. I walked around for a few minutes, feeling as if I had been through something PROFOUND. When I finally went back to bed I tried to tell the dream to Marv but he was too sleepy to listen --

--as I write this it is almost four in the afternoon and I am still shedding tears over this. why?

(We lost this baby June 4, 1966. Dreamed this eleven years later.)

Peter O'Toole

2006-05-23T08:10:00.000-07:00

Peter O'Toole was there. It was at a large school, a college I think. There had been a murder. I don't know if I, or someone else did it. The severed head (it was a woman's) was all that was left. It was hidden in a brown paper bag, but one spot of blood was left in the closet, a sort of wardrobe. I dropped a piece of toilet paper on the spot to soak it up, and I put the head, still in its paper bag, on a shelf in the closet.

There was something about a locker, and two women were talking together about how long they had waited for this chance. I don't remember how they were involved, but both of them were extremely excited and nervous, as they had waited a long, long time for the hour to be right. I watched them take a gold key to the locker and begin to open it up.

Cut to a closeup of the severed head. It had fallen off of the shelf onto the closet floor, and had rolled out of the bag. I tried to give it mouth-to-mouth resusitation. The breath was hissing in and out of her windpipe, but soon her eyelids fluttered open and she began to try to speak. Horrified, I stuffed the head back into the bag and put it back up on the shelf, but the bag kept tipping over. So I put the whole thing, bag and all, down the garbage disposal in the kitchen sink. I didn't turn it on, the whole thing was too big, too gross for that! Blood would splatter everywhere.

I went back to the closet and removed my shoes. The spot of blood was still there, soaked through the toilet paper. I saw a pair of furry white slippers, and I knew that I had worn them when the murder was committed. I was glad no blood had spattered on them, because it would never have washed out. Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Christopher had come to wash his hair--in the sink where I had hidden the head. Again, I was horrified, seeing the sink fill up with water, but then I noticed the plug was in the drain, and I hoped that it was not clogged by the head, but would still drain...when the plug was pulled....

Bird of Prey

2006-05-22T19:25:00.000-07:00

A hawk flies in circles, and suddenly he breaks into a swift dive toward a sparrow. He catches the sparrow, and I know that he will rip the little bird into pieces. I see the sparrow caught in the hawk's beak, I hear the sound the small bird makes, a shrill shriek, as the hawk closes his sharp beak, breaking the sparrow's neck.

I can hear it even now.

(photo by Lorika@secretfarmer)

2006-05-21T06:56:00.000-07:00

I dream of binary stars, circling one another like dogs ready to fight. One of the stars explodes and becomes a supernova, and then a black hole, and all the bright substance of the other star is sucked and whirled into the hole like water whirling down a drain.

I always dream in color, with a wide screen and sterophonic sound. Some people say they do not dream at all. What a pity. What a waste of time, to sleep and not dream. I dream asleep or awake.

(photo: Mark Garlick - Space Art)

Elaine's Dream

2006-05-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

27 June '85

Dear Joyce,

"In this dream I had," (to quote a favorite poet) I dreamed you had been married to T.S. Eliot for years. You didn't live together because of his sexual preferences, but you had this lovely relationship, each of you being the other's inspiration for the poetry you wrote.

I thought you would like to know what you've been up to in my dreams.

Love, Elaine

(No, Thomas wasn't gay. See how his wife laughs at the mere suggestion!? I'm not sure whether that is his first wife, Vivienne, or his second, Esme Valerie. Either way, it doesn't matter, now does it?)

BIRD LEGS

2006-05-15T20:08:00.000-07:00

I had the most awful dream night before last: we were keeping a bird in a cage on the bathroom floor. It was cold in there, and we kept forgetting to feed or water it. From time to time I went in to check on it, and remembered it needed to eat and drink--it was really in bad shape. Finally I went in and it was just about dead. Not quite. I picked it up and one of its legs broke off. Suddenly there were little bird legs everywhere, hanging with their little claws from the door and all over the floor. Then the little bird in my hand sort of shriveled up and died.

Political Dreams

2006-05-15T19:37:00.000-07:00

From Somewhere On The Road:

I dreamed last night I was in a concentration camp. We all had guns and were running along close to the walls. There was a door, and we all rushed in, and then just waited quietly for them to come in and get us. Then I was burying something, and an old, old man came by. He said, "How old are you, thirteen or fourteen?" I was insulted, so I did a little tap dance and said, "I'm twenty-one, and I'd vote in the next election, only I'm not registered."

And Another:

I dreamed I toured Russia. The Communists got me, and for some reason they were going to kill me! I made a heart-rending plea to this guard guy (something about how it would be never to see, or hear, or think again). He said he understood, but that he was just doing his job. Anyway, I finally managed to make an escape. Grandma was driving the get-away car. She kept wanting to stop and sight-see and visit, and I just wanted to hurry and get out before they caught up with me.

The other night after watching TV I had a wild but very interesting and coherent dream about "Gunsmoke." I played Matt Dillon! (Not political, but, what the heck.)

OLD DREAMS

2006-05-12T18:27:00.000-07:00

1. THE GOOD SAMARITAN

In this dream I had
the generous man who died
of some appalling plague
wanted to give me his puny blood
in a mayonnaise jar
(which I did not want)

In this dream
I lay reluctantly naked
upon a white hospital bed
where he has died
declining his philanthropy
feeling guilt

that I was such a thankless
wretch refusing interlocking
clamps and splices
the tethered couplings
that would braid us
blood to blood

refusing to partake
of his mortality

2. COMING AWAKE

I dreamed of you going away
to Switzerland with a puppet lady
a little Swiss cottage

like something off a clock
stuffed with deer antlers
and hanging puppets

like naked bodies
one or the other of us
behind bars

some kind of zoo
I might have loved you
I said

then came the screaming man
with a crushed hand
I took a brown bag

of leftover potato chips
home to my husband's
children

3. OCTOPUS

Your see-through faces
have run together like watercolor
on oatmeal pages
all my lovers buried alive

I never said goodbye
never knew how
I stored you up together instead
in some cluttered attic

inside my head
in a brown box rough with dust
and tied with barbed wire
for ribbons

one bound creature
of several shadowed hearts
and many limbs
all your vanished words

your brown eyes or blue eyes
all of you locked
together
like a bunch of

mad or hunchbacked uncles
hidden away
who grind their teeth
in my sleep

Fever Dreams

2006-05-11T22:07:00.000-07:00

1. I dream I have written a book, and I call it The Black Boy and the Preacher's Snot.

2. A whole band, crashing cymbals, timpani, tubas and trumpets and all, marches through my dreams, their golden epaulets waving and brass buttons shining. "What band is that?" I ask.
"That," someone says, "is the Kahntoum Hamish Duck Band."

3. I am a performer in a play, but I am unable to remember what the play is, or what role I am expected to do, or any of my lines. The other actors are annoyed when I try to ad lib. I run around backstage looking frantically for a script, and when I finally find one, I have forgotten how to read. My lines say: Moup krezlen per remsler diem fa borudot numlem ....

4. I sometimes write great poetry while I sleep: "There are no fragile dogs in Heaven. Marry whom you will."

I can't usually recall any of it, but this one I wrote down before it dissolved in daylight: We had but one thing for dinner,
a tooth,
and that was passed around
several times
before it was clipped down.

many great and important people
sat at either end
of the table discussing
whether it is nobler to live
or to die.

What was the question?
I forget.
What is the answer?

4. I dream I have written a child's picture book with the title "Christ Walked Among the Crucified." Inside, there is a picture of a huge tree, no leaves, but many long thorns--and upon each thorn, impaled at the middle is a man, woman, or child, doubled over in agony. The next page shows the same people, smiling, and all with little brown bandages in their middles where the thorns have been removed. The text says, "And with His touch, He healed the wounds of those who died for Him."

Baby Dreams

2006-05-10T10:18:00.000-07:00

1. A still-life, recurring, when I was 2 or 3-years old: a small white bulldog leaping toward the backside of a boy sitting on a fence. A pen-and-ink drawing. Something from the
Katzenjammer Kids.

2. Another recurring, about the same time: I am being chased by a screaming fire engine. I try to run, and can't lift my feet.

3. There is a chicken under my pillow. (It is really a yarn dog made by my Nanny. But in daylight, I am terrified by the chickens in our yard!)

My Mind's I

2006-05-10T09:57:00.000-07:00

I dreamed all night that I was making a dream journal, so when I woke up this morning I thought, why not? So. Why not!

ignis fatuus

in the illustrated
conceptions
that happen each night
the curtain
behind my eyes rises
fugitive people move
catbirds of life changing
skins under my closed eyelids
under my quiescent hair
on the pillow

skimming inscrutable
geographies of words
like flat stones
skipped across the grey-
green water of mind
that sprays like sea

or resident birds
that babble across
an overflowing of bells

I sleep
in ciphers
that no one explains:
mutable, exploding
at the pinions
self-propelling

and vulnerable, defenseless
as vampires