breakingsod.com

I woke this morning greatly amused by my dream self.

I’d been strolling through my neighborhood and there was this dried up looking lawn with this lanky, mostly bare bush on it. It looked a bit like a honeysuckle, but had an odd shape to it, gnarled double trunk spreading to a bushy bit, then one loppy branch angling out towards the street. I’d noticed it before(wierd dream logic that, referencing a memory that never existed) and had found it enchantingly birdlike.

I felt sad. It seemed likely to die in the summer heat. I wished there was some way I could transplant it to my yard without antagonizing the neighbor who owned the place.

It happened, on my walk that day, that I was carrying a fruit. A strange fruit, large as a grapefruit, but brick red, solid and pulpy.

On a whim, I held it out to the ‘head’ of the bird bush. I was caught by my action and felt a frisson of intense awareness. I held very, very still, my hand continuing to offer the fruit. Some small part of my mind nattered at me, wondering what the heck I was doing, glad that the fence was blocking the view from the window, relieved that the woman who lived there would not see me behaving like such a fruitloop with her shrubbery.

It shut up-indeed, vanished completely-when the branch began to move. Towards my hand, slowly, slowly..

I backed up. I wasn’t afraid, I knew what I was doing. I stepped back about four feet and again held out the fruit.

The branch extended as far as it could and then, well, I could feel the bush coming to a decision. Carefully and deliberately, the roots pulled themselves up from the crusty lawn and the creature stepped forward, it’s trunks separating into two ostrich like legs.

It came to me, sniffing at the fruit with a beaklike protrusion and then lipping at it like a horse might. I let it take a nibble and then began to lead my new friend the ostrich bush, home.

Sometimes dreams are very literal in their mystical interpretations of my inner struggles and worries.

Last night, asleep, I was getting ready to go on a splendid vacation with some dear friends. We were going to take a boat to get there-I think it was on an island. I realized that I had no shoes-they’d somehow vanished right off my feet. So, I was looking amongst all the cast off shoes at the ferry dock. For some unknown but perfectly dream-acceptable reason, there were rows and rows of people’s shoes and boots against the wall.

A friend, who seemed to be a combination of my childhood hero/nemesis Martha and my dear friends Cody and Sharon all rolled up in one glorious, formidable package, told me I could use her boots. We hauled one out of the pile-it was a gorgeous, shit-kickin’ black leather number with lots of zips and laces. We managed, with much effort, to get it strapped onto my foot and then.. couldn’t find the other one-then we did find it, but it was red. And when I pulled another black one out of the jumble, the one I had on turned out to be dark blue.

Sigh.

Whateveh, it was time to go, so off we went, though I suddenly noticed that I was also only wearing a bathrobe. Doh! But no matter, one of the girls was in lingerie, so I figured my ridiculously unmatched and scanty attire wouldn’t be a terrible fauz pas.

We all trouped out onto the path that wound up by the side of the building, very close, in fact, so close it was part of the building and led us up to the roof. Up near the tippy top, we had to push through brambles, on the edge of the roof(a scenario my mind plucked from Magnusson beach, where Sam and I clambered over slippery asphalt chunks on the bramble-defended shoreline). The boots came in handy here, though my hands got a bit scratched up.

Apparently there was a kinky party going on up here-our scantily clad friend decided to investigate, but soon returned disappointed, because it was ‘dead in there’.

Double sigh.

Oh well, we started to scramble down again… By the time I made it back to the shore, my friends were gone and I could see the boats loading. Panic time! The only way to get there was jumping from raft to raft. The ‘rafts’ being thin, floppy bamboo mats floating on the water.

Grack!

As I wriggled from one dubious flotation device to the next, it sank beneath my weight and I floundered about in the water, desperate because I could see the boat leaving in the distance.

Waaah! Dream over.

Guess Cody’s new movement class the night before really stirred me up. I’m so glad she’s started up again. Her workshops have an ingenious, unique(sometimes serious, often silly, always genuine) way of popping you past your ideals and ideas-out of your head self and into your body self.

My body, currently, is pretty winter stiff, grouchy and tied up in knots(I was pretty shocked how rigid I was!) by my brain’s woes-mainly financial, at the moment.

We ended the dance with a series of small performances of our experience and mine really took me right into contact with my fears, my feeling of endlessly stopping up ceaselessly erupting leakholes.

Plop, into my subconscious, mix in a little Fiona Apple-Sam and I were singing some songs at bedtime and one of them was Extraordinary Machine:

‘I certainly haven’t been shopping for any new shoes….’

And voila! I missed the boat.

Hmm… Perhaps I need to go buy myself some shiny new asskickers?

Golden Key, my four day meditation weekend, launched with an intense, extremely bizarre dream.

So, I’m in the trailer I grew up in(for anyone who doesn’t already know-I grew up in a wierd hippie commune in the Northern Maine woods).

I’m there with a bunch of friends, adults, but somehow child-like. I feel responsible and protective of them. Two nasty, cruel, large, powerful, muscular dudes arrive and bully their way in. They are taking charge and I’m trying to hide my ‘kids’. But it’s too late, they’ve already seen us and my people are dragged outside.

I’m powerful, I’m not afraid for myself-I know they can’t kill me-but my friends are lined up out in the garden and the demon(I’ve recognized now that one of the evildoers is a major demon) is killing them one by one.

I know I can’t do anything until just the right moment, so I stand on top of the stone wall that borders the garden, watching my people fall. The fourth man in line is very dear to me and when the demon reaches him, it turns, grasps my eyes with it’s piercing gaze and grins maliciously. I step forward, knowing it’s almost time.

The demon grasps the man by his neck and ankles and bends him, turning him this way and that like a doll. The man shrinks, wriggles painfully and turns blue and the demon humiliates him deliberately and provocatively, laughing this raw, crackling laugh, then smacks him hard again and the man disappears.

I walk towards the creature, angry, but crisply and decisively so. My movements precise and articulate. I’m face to face with it suddenly and it pushes it’s nasty face up towards mine. I suddenly know it’s going to kiss me and gross as that seems(imagining slavering demon tongue), I lean into the kiss.

The demon kisses me, parting my lips with it’s hard, hot wetness and I feel something tiny and edged slip into my mouth. I pull back and the demon laughs.

This little hard thing is on my tongue. I spit it into my palm and horrified, see it’s a miniature, perfect, white sculpture of my friend.

A voice speaks: ‘You have to be quick’ I turn towards the fallen bodies.

It’s his mother, his dead mother. She looks at me and though she’s still dead, she tells me to put the tiny likeness into his skull. And, there, laying by her feet is a dry, yellow skull.

It’s his. I know it. I’ve felt that skull under my fingers… I pick it up. There’s this little eye-shaped crevice in the back of the cranium. I look at the figure in my palm and see that it is starting to crumble. Hastily, I place it in the crevice and press-it melts into the bone and the skull shrinks, fitting nicely in my hand. It feels solid, slightly warm, smooth and good to hold onto, like the small ocean-smoothed stones I sometimes carry in my pockets.

I walk away, holding the small yellow skull wrapped in my fist, like a talisman.

I dreamt some wildy sexy vampire dreams last night.

In one of them, I toppled two hapless, though not unwilling male victims onto my velvety bed… One asked me if I’d ever straddled a man before(my waking mind wants to know what kind of stupid idiot would ask a question like that, but somehow in the dream it worked)… I didn’t answer in words, merely pushed the boys under me and ’straddled’ them both at once, while kissing and biting their neckses.

Yowsa!

It was cool having fangs… I’ve always rather had a wicked, feline desire in the vampirical direction.

Still, no more blood oranges at bedtime for this girl!