The divination of dreams

Only a dream, in light of what I’ve already told. But in light of everything that’s still to tell?

Ohh and I probably don’t even understand the half of this stuff, even now. Sometimes I wish for an interpreter, a diviner of dreams.

 

Saturday 19 September, 2009: 

I’ll start with the dream I have this morning. It’s extremely vivid and lasts a few minutes after I wake up.

What follows is the last part of the dream – which seemed to concentrate all the intensity of what went along for a drifting length of time into one knockout hit.

 

I was crying a little bit, because I had lost my makeup bag (long story). As I walked along what seemed to be a corridor, a boy came towards me from the other direction. He was crying in the same way as me – not really crying, just snuffling with a few tears of frustration. As he walked along, he threw down a sheaf of papers onto the floor before him. They slid towards me, and I saw they were drawings, signed with a name on them. I couldn’t make out the name clearly, but instinctively I put out one foot and placed my toe on the pile, holding them down gently. I became aware that the boy was chanting in a low voice as he walked. And behind him, a few paces back but catching up, walked a warrior who was perfectly visible but at the same time insubstantial: I knew he was a spirit figure. I stood listening, watching, my foot resting on the paper, and I saw him reach the boy’s shoulder – and for a brief second I wondered what would happen. Then one figure passed into the other, and the air seemed to go opaque, or like static, and there was something like the crackle of an electric shock – and the boy just kept walking forward. But from his right side sprang a younger figure (also in the clothes of a warrior), who simply shot forward as if he was discharged from a pistol, at a forty five degree angle from the older boy. He was propelled across the paper – and then just dissolved into the air and vanished from sight. And suddenly it was also me who had been tingling from head to toe, and I felt that same, opaque, static electrical charge. For a moment I couldn’t see, couldn’t tell where I was, but I sensed something rearranging inside my body – and so I just stayed very still and quiet. I wasn’t afraid. I understood I was waking up, but I didn’t open my eyes, because I knew it hadn’t finished: that tingling, static, ‘jamming’. As it slowly lessened, I saw figures, faces, drifting through my mind like smoke in thin air. And although my comprehension was limited; they were like outlines, impressions of faces watching – looking on.

Then the atmosphere cleared and it was daybreak, and I really was lying in my bed, my solar plexus still humming. I swung into a sitting position, almost to test my limbs. I felt like I was running with energy; the soles of my feet were supple and quivering as they pressed on the floor. I still wasn’t alarmed. I went and got a drink of water, then came back and sat on the bed, rippling with a kind of subdued energy which made me feel respectful and quiet.

 

All day since then I’ve been shivering and not feeling very well. My stomach hurts and my chest is tight, and my body aches. I feel very self-contained and quiet, I just want to be on my own and let it settle. I feel like… like I’ve been given a shot of something so strong that I can only just cope with it. I need to just let it even out; be patient, and not be agitated. This is the first time for a very long time that I think crying would help, would settle my jangling, shocked, nerve endings. I don’t know. Its very weird and yet not unpleasant.

I have no idea what the time is, I’m still here after dozing fitfully for what seems like hours. The sun has started to go down. And of course I don’t cry, I can’t cry, I’d like to cry. All the sad things can’t make me cry. Inside me I’m patient and I’m sad. I’m hot and my solar plexus aches, and I breathe patiently. I think about all the things which tear at me… and it doesn’t matter, even if I’m full up like a swollen river, I just contain more and more.

Stupidly, the little things I focus on again and again. Tau’s PEACE bombing – someone’s stolen it right off the wall. There’s a gap there now which assumes (to me) glaring proportions; far bigger than its actual size. And will I ever see Tau again? Morris thinks school won’t try to get him back.  And would I try? I would, but… I don’t know if I’d have the heart to. If he doesn’t want to be there, then shouldn’t I also let him go, and just hope that somehow he’ll keep making it through? And I miss him with an actual ache – I just actually, patiently, physically do.

 

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