Wind & Fire.

January 13, 2010: After the most emotionally draining night I can remember wrenching through in the last five years, I slept only to dream on and off a flurry of serious, troubling dreams.

It began in the company of a man, somebody I didn't recognize, but knew in the dream. I can't remember many details, but we had to run away from a large building fire. We got away easily enough and were talking, wending our way through a maze of ramps and I-beams. It was dark, and there must have been large-pane windows in the roof, because I felt like we were outside. City-smogged moonlight was our only source of light. Though I felt a little shaken from the fire, the conversation was comfortable and we were taking our time finding a path through the old, abandoned building.

I looked behind us and, through a large window, saw a tornado taking form in high white clouds above a perfect blue sky. I turned to my companion, physically trembling, and told him with a nervous laugh, "I may have been a little frightened of that fire back there, but I am more afraid of tornadoes than anything on this Earth." I tried to lay my hand on his arm but was shaking too badly. We began to run and found our way outside, where we jumped in a car and started driving down city streets I couldn't recognize in the opposite direction as the tornado. The sky was a strange, marbled gray and reddish mauve, and seemed to be calmly swirling around. As we drove away, we saw that two more funnel clouds were beginning to take shape in the clouds straight ahead. Terrified, we leaped out of the car and ran into the nearest home we could reach, which happened to be my aunt's house (though I didn't recognize it, again). Once inside, I was surprised to see my parents, aunt, son, and a few strangers sitting around the table eating and playing cards. "D'you have any idea what's going on outside?!" I yelled angrily. Somebody went to peer through the kitchen window but seemed unmoved by what was out there. I went to look and saw that the lilac branches outside of the window were hardly moving in a gentle breeze. Still, looking through the foliage I saw that the first, eastern tornado was growing bigger and was about to touch down.

I corralled all the people in the kitchen and brought them downstairs, where somebody turned on an old television set as they all immediately began making themselves comfortable. I ran back up the narrow staircase and started searching for candles, flashlights, and thick, hardback books. As I passed the window, I took a look outside again and saw that small, spinning cloud formations were whipping over the house successively; a warning or a failure, I couldn't tell which. I squinted my eyes and saw that the large tornado was nowhere to be seen. Had it receded back into the clouds? I scanned the town, my entire body tense and waiting.

Suddenly, a group of thousands of mourning doves took flight from the horizon line many miles away, flying away in fear of a quick, unexpected flash of light from behind a veil of smoke. The birds flew as well as they could, attempting to outrun some terror still unseen by me. Whatever it was, it was coming.

Goblins & Green.

Following a night's worth of dreaming, sweet, billowing dreams about a kind new face, I woke at 4 am to the sound of Gabriel crying. After putting him back to sleep, I found my way back to bed and had one, long, successive dream that kicked me awake.

I don't remember the beginning of the dream, but ended up watching a small, limby little olive-colored goblin. The creature had an ugly look on his face and kept his hands rubbing one another nervously while peering from side to side. He was the only person around (which made me think, despite watching him from afar, that I was the goblin myself, although I never registered anything he was feeling). Standing near a giant bulldozer parked at the end of a large tin building, he restlessly waited. There were other buildings scattered around, as well as stacks of hay, old field equipment, and ramshackle chain-link fences here and there.

Soon, a woman walked toward the goblin; her steel grey hair was covered in a thick scarf and I couldn't see much of her face, but she seemed full of a quiet goodness and strength. As she approached the little being, he quickly jumped off the bulldozer and began to run. Finding his way through fence holes and piles of tools, he ran alongside the white tin building, his feet padded by the fresh straw that matted the ground. He noticed a number of curious things as he ran along, but my mind can't make sense of most of them. A few times, he had to slow down and use his pointy feet to tip-toe past some resting animals or people. I remember seeing a white horse laying with his back to us, and a hazy glow all around him. I couldn't bring the horse into focus, and he seemed to terrify the goblin, who snuck quickly past.

I quickly realized the goblin, who had left the old lady far behind, was no longer trying to outrun anybody but was searching for something somebody had hidden. I don't know what it was, but knew it to be about the size of an apple, but square, hidden within an old miniature chest, wrapped in brown paper, and strung up tight with twine. I could feel the goblin concentrating on where the object could be, and sensed some sort of deep radar emanate from him as we passed mounds of hay and dirt, as if he were x-raying for the parcel as he swept past. His frustration grew as he moved along, but so did his excitement.

As he got to the end of the long building he had been pacing, he walked slowly out from the edge of the wall. The building was entirely open on this side, showing wide, three-walled shelter for farm work. When the goblin stepped into the sight of the inside of the building, a peasant woman busy working with heavy canvas looked up. She let out a high scream and stood up, her smudged hands flying to her mouth. The goblin knew he had made a mistake in being seen, but didn't seem to care much. He closed his narrow little eyes tight and disappeared entirely. Immediately, he reappeared on the roof of the building, but the worker woman couldn't see him any longer.

The scene shifted here, and I became a part of the dream myself. The sky, before an unremarkable white, darkened dramatically. A high, towering fence appeared across from me, trapping me in the spot with the open tin building to my left, a jagged mountain edge to my right, and walls of hay behind. I was in the body of a young man, bespectacled but strong, and had a good friend standing with me. A large group of evil men, mostly hooded in black and charcoal robes, came flying down the dark mountainside toward us. One man, with curly gray hair and a walking cane crowned with a silver serpent head, headed for me, grinning maliciously.

"It's over, you know," he said triumphantly, his words bringing cheers from the rest of the group. "I'm sure you're well aware that there's no hope for you now."

A shorter, fat man ambled up to me, jeering, and roughly tied my hands behind my back with a thick rope. Another person did the same to my friend, and the group began to push us into the building to our left (which was the open-sided farm building before, but was now black and ominous). Knowing my friend and I were caught and well done for, I tried to pop my head over the fence that barricaded us in as we walked past. Seeing (or sensing) a number of snakes slithering around on the other side, I shouted a warning to them, knowing they were friends and were very much on our side. My voice yelled hoarsely, but finished with a gentle hiss. The fat man who was still holding my roped hands shoved me away from the fence with a laugh, and we entered the black building.

It seemed to be an indoor amusement ride; the room was spacious and dark, tinged with a poisonous green glow pushing from the many corners of the place. There was a number of roller coaster seats waiting on the right side, and my friend and I were placed into one and buckled in. There seemed to be more people who had been captured with us, and they were also pushed down and tied into the cars. To our left and down ten feet or so, there was a river (inside) full of green, slightly swaying water. I heard the crude laughter of the man with the walking cane and heard gears begin to turn, though I couldn't see what our captors were doing behind us.

The coaster car was suddenly plunged into the emerald water and plummeted down as we sat powerless to unbind ourselves. After taking a great gulp of the glittering water, I felt a strength surge through me and easily freed my hands from the ropes that held them together. I slunk ungraciously through the rope tethering me to the heavy, sinking seat and quickly turned to help free my friend from his binds, as well. At this time, I felt my body turn back into its normal self; I was me again.

I swam to the surface and climbed out. I was in the same place, but had gone further down a passageway, which was better lit and more theatrical than frightening. I realized it was just part of the test, and I could feel sets of people ahead and behind me, working to solve the next problem in the course. Although everybody was paired up, I was alone, though not bothered by it. I climbed up a set of castle-like stairs made of wood and entered a small room with shadowed alcoves lining the sides. There were brightly striped banners pinned to the walls, which were made of heavy, gray stones, mortared together. I saw a few stuffed animals (a teddy bear, a small pink elephant) talking amongst themselves at the end of the room. As I neared them, they fell silent and looked over at me. After a few tense seconds, a small, brown-papered object flew out from under the foot of the bear and shot past my head. I dodged out of the way and looked behind me, where I watched as the grubby little package fell into a small, semi-caged floor lowered from our level. Inside, there was a giant polar bear, who was snarling angrily at me.

I jumped down to his level, swiftly grabbed the package, and patted the polar bear on his back. He immediately became docile and tried to direct me where to go next. I couldn't understand anything he said, but thanked him and climbed back up to where the stuffed animals were lingering. The animals were no longer there, but two people were. A middle-aged man and woman stood there, smiling at me. The woman was very rosy-cheeked, portly, and kind-looking, and her curly red hair reminded me of somebody I had once been very close with. The man, who was taller and thinner, had a much sharper look to his face, although he was smiling warmly. His dark teal robes were tattered, and his face was scarred up, his graying hair disheveled.

I greeted the company warmly without words and noticed a small vent behind the woman's head. A way out! I thought delightedly, feeling I was still trapped in the strange, deadly game the captors had thrown me into. I pushed the face of the vent, which gave easily, and opened onto a purely white, wide sky. Suddenly, I realized the building had caught fire. Behind me, I saw a bowl of porridge whose sides and spoon had blackened and warbled strangely in the heat from the unseen flame. I grabbed the hands of the couple and began to weave my way through the following passage. Through the dark, stone-walled hall, I turned quickly, left, right, left, left, and ended up in a small, kitchen-like area just like my real kitchen.

I was relieved to see our window was still there, and, pushing it open, crawled halfway out of it. I grabbed onto the wood overhanging the house, which felt warm from the fire. As I let myself down, I was surprised to find myself only a foot away from the ground. The others inside followed suit. Somehow, our realization of what was happening obliterated the evil gang that had caught and bound us; they were entirely gone. The obstacles they had put up for us was just a game- they pretended that we had a chance to fight for our lives, but, I now knew, they had planned to kill us all, just the same.

Outside of the building (now my house), I saw a number of my family members mulling around, nursing small wounds or coughing. Through the opened kitchen window I had escaped from, somebody (my mother?) handed me a bag full of carrots, which I happily accepted. The hand then popped out with a handful of celery. I smiled, stowed the food away into my clothing, and crawled back inside. Only half of the building was on fire, and some people were still wading around or waiting to get out. I grabbed something of Oma's off the counter, a strange, ornate muffin tin stamped with images of leering sugar skulls, and put it into my satchel with the vegetables. I also took a framed picture of Oma (the one in her thirties standing on the grass in front of the pine tree), as well as a photograph of my mother's grandmother.

As I closed up my bag and went back outside, I saw my uncle Chris. He smiled at what I was doing and told me he used to play flute for a street band (which he called an alley band) named the Joe Strummer Fog Trains. Somehow, he had forgotten most of his life, what he knew, and even his own name. His brain was somehow terribly addled by the fire, smoke, and trauma of what had happened inside, although he looked content and happy. I caught a glimpse of Laena's fiancé, Danny, who said something about a song he had written about the experience inside called "Sooted Thieves in the Fire." The entire family had gone through the inferno and we had come out together.

Mice & Black.

My dream last night took off from a series of strange little bits in which I walked comfortably through a number of rooms in a (rather full) house naked. I was accompanying a friend and soon decided a navy fleece blanket might be a little more appropriate, because I was causing a stir in this house, which seemed like it belonged to somebody else's very large family. My friend and I wove our way through the home and the silent, ogling, ash-haired people, up flights of stairs, through crowded bedrooms until I found myself in a spacious room filled with a giant swimming pool. I had reached the classroom and left my friend behind.

The scene morphed slightly as I walked through the room, turning instead into a windowed room on the ground floor with a big, oddly-shaped pool visible outside, just to the left of the large windows. Outside, thirty or so people (all my age) were milling about, waiting for classes to start. We began to line up, all facing different directions (either North, East, South, or West) depending on our ethnicities and where the correlating countries laid from where we were. I stood facing North, which, I assume, meant I was dreaming of myself in a different place, standing next to an old grade-school friend, Rachel, who I know as distinctly Scottish and English.

After a while, I noticed one of our instructors (a black animal of some sort) became incredibly nervous and kept looking to the direction straight behind me. I don't remember if he communicated it aloud, but I knew he was afraid a group of evil folks were about to attack us, although he couldn't see anything. I knew his premonition was right, and quickly decided to swan dive into the swimming pool in front of me. Before hitting the water, I looked behind me and saw a brood of black-feathered chickens heading toward our group. As I broke the surface of the water in a clean dive, I braced myself for the oncoming attack, knowing only one other person from the hoard knew they were coming. After swimming gracefully through the clean water, I jumped straight out of the pool and began running. Through an iron gate in a hedged wall that surrounded the pool and our classroom, I could feel and hear the attackers behind me.

As I ran through darkly cobbled and tight village streets, I felt an unsure strength course through me. Every street or so, I would reach down between my legs and use a cobblestone to pull and push against (some were jutting out) to help me gain speed. Soon, I lost my pursuers and took a swift right turn into a strangely open yet suffocatingly close set of town homes or wooden blocks. I maneuvered around the maze quickly and quietly and found myself at the bare entrance to a plain room at the far end of the place. Peeking inside, I saw a blonde-haired boy, about fourteen, sitting against the wall asleep, as well as a brave little mouse bedecked in a cap and boots with a sword in his hands. Knowing he was a friend (earlier, I had been running from enemies attempting to eat mice, I now understood, and I think I was a mouse myself now), I stealthily entered the room and followed the brave mouse as he silently beckoned me to follow him. I trailed him up a spiral staircase that led to a small alcove. The room held a large, old church bell inside a narrow, un-paned window.

As we reached the top and looked around, we heard a commotion downstairs and knew the foes had gained on us. I didn't know what to do, and looked to my new chivalrous companion. He pulled something large and limp from a satchel hanging at his side and threw it down the staircase. Peering over, I saw that he had thrown a dead black rat. The band of fat black cats that had been chasing me were entirely distracted by the newfound food, and my friend quickly pushed me past the bell, nodding in encouragement. I jumped through the window (which broke, despite being previously un-glassed) and landed with a pang on a busy city street.

I realized I was in New York, although it didn't look much like the city itself, and the dream changed from a small mouse being pursued to a confused and interested tourist gazing around the streets. I was nearly run over by large cars a number of times as I tried to cross the street, but soon learned to watch the signal lights, and traipsed happily after a family pushing a stroller and coughing unhealthily. A small voice in my ear reminded me of the nature of city life before I woke up.

Caribou & Cottontails.

December 10, 2009: I dreamed last night that I was the (female) Chief of an African tribe of about twelve people. We were on the move, following the migrating caribou across a rolling, frosty landscape. There were large rock formations (like cliffs), so as to allow corners for our tribe to lose the caribou scent. The land was somehow on the playground of Fairview Elementary. As I walked, bandy-legged, at the front of the scattered group, my nose stopped sharply.

"I've lost the scent."

Everybody stopped and looked around nervously.

"Three of you," I said with a light wave of my dark hand, "go ahead and regain our track."

Four large men immediately ran forth, turning a sharp corner past a large, gray cliff (in the same place as the Fairview building). We began our slow walk again. As I turned the corner, I saw three or so men sitting on benches, laughing, and caribou family less than fifty yards away.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hissed as I ran crouching, waving my thin arms like a goose in the men's direction.

They weren't a part of my clan, but I had a lot of authority over all the lands.

"You must keep your filthy mouths closed, can't you see the caribou not a stone's throw away from you? Stand up, get out of here, go home to make yourselves useful."

The men stopped smiling and chatting, and obediently slinked back around the corner.

I scowled and continued walking, motioning for my tribe to follow. The landscape changed again, we were walking up Fairview Street and it was late, the houses were still there, and the caribou were trotting dutifully up the street. Before we got to 80th, it changed yet again. The homes were gone, though 80th Avenue was still there. There was scrub brush here and there, a few large trees, a small pond. It felt like what could have been there if the area had never been developed. As I neared 80th, I saw we were very close to the caribou, who already seemed to have passed the street. I waited for the line of traffic to clear and jumped across the street. The other side of 80th was also clear of houses and covered in light-colored, bare bushes except for a cement path that the caribou were using. As I neared the herd, I saw that they weren't in fact walking away, but headed towards our own tribe. Somehow this wasn't the same group we had been following. So they will jump directly into our hungry mouths! I thought excitedly as I backtracked across the street to still my own people.

After I crossed the street, my tribe had turned into caribou themselves. There were young fawns, graying, older caribou, mothers and fathers. As I turned to look back across the street, I saw that the actual herd of caribou had turned into a colony of brown cotton tails. We, both groups, stared at each other from both sides of the busy street. All of our small tails were wigging excitedly, as if two groups of old friends had met. I stood there happily, a human among prey animals, tall, dark, and smiling. An amazing natural occurence, I thought, and turned to walk away, back down the path I had come.

Before I did, I looked back to see that the animals had met halfway between the street. The cars had stopped to watch, and I thought the drivers must be enjoying it as much as I was. Then, a male driver in a white SUV threw his hands up in exasperation and drove right over the socializing animals. I saw them flattened, I cried out, and woke up.

Fire & Ice.

Last night's dream began in the company of two of my cousins at a well-windowed fast food shop. We were sitting around a square table, our bodies comfortably lounging across the tabletop and over the backs of our chairs. The lights in the shop were off, but it was stormily bright outside, and that's where our attention was focused. We watched as it began to rain through the bright gray sky. After some time, the raindrops began to form into slushy balls of ice. Enamored, we watched as the slush formed into solid ice, and soon, the ice falling from the sky was growing in size. Spheres of ice the size of softballs dropped next to some ice chunks three feet in diameter. I remember thinking vividly of the bottom torsos of snowmen.

We quickly decided to abandon the restaurant in fear of the windows breaking, and headed outside. Nearby, there was an open area with a covered tin roof. As we headed that way, the wind picked up and began blowing things around; tree branches flew by, bits of rubble, wood, and stone blew past with terrifying speed. We ducked beneath the roofing and watched the onslaught of ice and debris for a few hectic minutes. The windows of every building in sight were being blown out, and the shattered remains were spinning through the air.

I turned and found an old friend standing next to me instead, and she nodded to me somberly, knowing we had to venture out into the storm. The landscape was now empty of buildings and streets- we seemed to be in an open forest, and the sky had grown dark and ominous. An evil, reddish glow seemed to emanate from the storm clouds above. We ran out of cover, our arms over our heads, and stopped in the middle of a meadow-like clearing. Behind us, we saw a small fighter jet take flight. It flew wobbily through the harsh wind, and I felt my body tense up in expectation of its crash. The jet weaved sloppily up higher, and took a tremendous nose-dive towards the ground. Shouting out loud, I grabbed Shantel's hand and watched in surprise as the jet found its way through a small, storm-drain-like hole in the ground. We sighed together in relief, almost forgetting the storm raging around us. To our front, we noticed a second, larger plane flying toward us. Knowing this one was destined to crash, I grabbed her head and pulled her down to the ground, which was now snow-covered. One of the airplane's engines burst away from the plane and fell with an explosion twenty feet in front of us. In the dark night, the fire glowed bright and warm. Behind us, the rest of the airplane crashed with a giant blast that we could feel in heat, see in dangerously bright light, but could not hear.

We spent a few more minutes on the ground, catching our breath and feeling the warmth of the smoldering crash ahead of us. The storm had ended and now a light, silent snow was floating down around us. The sky had lost its firey shadow and was now a light, mottled gray. The air felt exhausted. Finally, we stood up and shook ourselves off. Turning around, we saw that the crashed airplane was gone, as was all evidence of the accident. We found ourselves in a silent clearing, dark but for the light of the snow, and completely silent. Looking down into the clearing, I noticed a framed photograph (of yellow flowers, one of my father's) laying on the ground. Snowflakes were falling gently onto it, and remember cocking my head to the side, curious. Then I woke up.

Dreamless or Over-dreamed.

My head has been so thoroughly troubled lately that it rarely finds rest or clarity even in sleep. My usual strange solace, a sweet, solid block of dreams that sweeps me away in some astral thunderstorm... I wake up cleaned and so willing to write, to explore, and to love, it's nowhere to be found. The last few weeks have left my mind short-circuiting in sleep and handing me constant fragments of complicated, uneasy dreams that are so punctured with troubled waking that I sometimes don't realize the morning has come.

Spit & the Forgotten.

I began dreaming that a friend, my family, and I were driving through town in my dad's white Jeep. It was Christmas time, and all of the houses were covered in red and white string lights. As we made our way up a hill hugging the edge of town, I turned around in the front seat (a better way to look at the lights, I guess), and began singing sadly to myself. After a moment, a telephone rang, and my mom answered it. A loud, faintly recognizable voice poured through loudly on the other end.

"Oh, shit," I said to myself, grimacing. "It's him."

I referred to Gabriel's father by his last name and saw the surprise in my friend's face. As my mom passed the phone to me, I rubbed my eyes and found myself standing near a fence in my parents' backyard. Unlike the fence there now, this fence was tall, black, and bare of the lilac that fills it out in reality. As we talked I paced slowly and mindlessly. He told me he wanted to come visit, explained that if my family could talk to him and see how much trouble he was going through, that they would rally to lower his child support payment. I held back a laugh and tried to tell him that his idea probably wouldn't work.

"Why?" he asked, sounding puzzled but on-guard.

"Well," I began tentatively, "I don't think my family believes you have much reason to complain." I tried to leave it at that, but he told me he would be arriving in half an hour.

I hung up the phone and noticed my dad standing next to me. Suddenly, I began coughing violently, deeply. My father looked at me worriedly and tried to rub my back. After a minute, I spit up a mouthful of thick mucous and went to change my clothes. In my parents' bedroom, I found a red long-sleeved shirt I bought myself in Monterey - the first thing I got myself after finding out I was pregnant. Slipping it on over my head, I noticed an old black Audi pulling up outside, the same car we drove in and broke down together. In front of his car, a giant black SUV was parked, partially on the grass. He brought his lawyer? I thought to myself, figuring I shouldn't have been surprised. I walked through the window into the backyard and saw him standing on the deck, taller than I remembered him. His face was filled out with a short beard, black and already flecked with gray. He looked older, more tired but kinder, and smiled when he saw me.

I walked up to him and gave him a small hug, and saw that there were four older people sitting in the living room. He explained that he brought his grandparents, both sets, as they had always wanted to come in the first place. I didn't quite understand, but shrugged it off. He quickly noticed Gabriel playing in the garden at the end of the yard. He was singing to himself and had his hands full with small shovels and dirt. Keith smiled and ran toward the garden, turning instead to a plot of wilted irises. On his hands and knees, he threw his head gleefully into the plant and began smelling some small, new, purple buds I hadn't noticed before.

Three-year-old Dreams.

Gabriel has been dreaming about flying, happy pigs lately. He also told me a few days ago that he had a dream with nice snowmen with hats on. When he was about two, I began asking him what he saw while he slept. For the first six months or so, he always said he dreamed about the ocean. Each morning, I would roll over and have a small conversation with a fellow sleepy-eyed soul and he would laugh or furrow his eyebrows as I told him about my dreams. After I finished, he would always say, "I saw the ocean. Water, water." A lot of my dreams involve water, and as it's a traditional symbol for emotion, I can easily understand why.

But for the last few weeks, Gabriel has been telling me, almost every morning, that he dreams of horses. One sad morning, he reported that he had a "very sad dream about horses fighting bad." Other mornings, he dreams of horses running, playing, or talking. We haven't been learning about horses or paying them any special attention, but I have had an image of horses stuck in my mind since the beginning of spring after seeing a beautiful photo online. Horses are such a sweet sign of strength and grace. Perhaps we'll have a little bit more of that in our lives someday soon?

Fog & Trains.

Some months ago: The dream began at an afternoon party in somebody's upscale beach house (though we were nowhere near water). Much of the home and the clothing people wore was white and crisp, though I still felt relatively comfortable in my black lace dress. The party was being thrown by my mother-in-law and her family (all new faces). I was milling around the spacious island that separated the kitchen from the living room, drinking sangria and chatting with her and her sisters. I kept polite but couldn't find much to talk about. After I finished my drink, I set my glass down on the pale, terra-cotta countertop and walked through the back door, passing a number of colorless men in clean suits, lounging around the living room with melting drinks in their hands, on the way.

Outside, I found an endless expanse of dull sand and fog. The sight was still beautiful and the smell of rain and feel of cold fog on my skin was incredibly welcome after the blanched air inside the party. I could see nothing in any direction, but smiled to myself and began walking. After a time, the looming shape of a great, brown brick building came out of the fog. A squat, wide building it was, and I walked around to the side of it and found a doorway inside. Once in, I realized it was an abandoned train station. After the brightness of the foggy sky outside, the station was very dark, windowless, and quiet. There was still a good feeling about the place, and I found a set of old green steps leading up to a partial second floor. Through a crumbling white door, I discovered a small bathroom and sat down on the sagging toilet. As I went to the bathroom, I noticed some reading material piled in a basket on the floor. There were half a dozen faded travel maps, marked here and there in a lovely cursive script. I unfolded one and traced a road with my fingers before putting it back.

After getting up and leaving through a doorway on the opposite side of the place I entered, I was surprised to find the sandy domain full of people. They were all darkly muted and far away, but they were wandering about everywhere. I made my way forward, toward another old train station. This station had a windowed, half-domed roof and was amazingly vast and wide. Opened completely on both ends, I found myself standing in one end, gazing silently at the place. Here, it was night-time, and the windows above were laced with a thousand tiny white lights, strung across the entire ceiling. These little lights were the only illumination for the large building, and gave the whole place a great, magical glow. The hall was teeming with people, so much so that there wasn't an open space to see the floor. Despite this, the station still had a very airy, wide feeling because there was so much space upwards.

I stepped down, onto the floor, and noticed everybody was walking in the same direction- towards me. I heaved a sigh and started to make my way forth, through the throng of people. Every face I saw I recognized: here, an old study partner from college; there, a boyfriend from third grade. As I walked, I tried to make eye contact with all of these forgotten people, but not a single person would look me in the eye. I wasn't bothered, so overtaken with the magic of the station, and continued to make my way through.

Skulls & Stars.

April 20, 2011: A night of confusing dreaming ended up with a short, memorable bit. Through some tangled way, I found myself and a few friends wading through the half-flooded hallways of a junior high school (it was my school in the dream, though it wasn't familiar to me). There were water plants swaying around our legs and animals swimming or flying among us. It seemed normal, and we carried our books above water on our way to class.

In one large, opened room (gymnasium?), there was a giant cage, partially underwater like everything else. I peeked my head inside the opened door and saw a few dejected-looking orangutans. For some reason, I knew, or assumed, the apes in the enclosure wee caged because they were "crazy" and unstable. One, to my right, was obviously very old and seemed incredibly tired and worn down. His fur was gray and black and his eyes were drooped with sadness. To my right, I saw a smaller, younger-looking ape lying across a rope. Her face was also long and weary, and she had a small baby clutching to her underbelly. They both peered over at me with uninterested eyes. After seeing the baby, I wondered why she was able to keep him/ her if she was a lunatic. I shook my head and noticed a small, round, rock-like object float past me in the water. Through the moving surface, I saw a glint of red, and then a brown tamarin quickly darted after the stone. I shrugged my shoulders, left the cage, and returned on my way to class.

Then I went through the same scene again through the eyes of the tamarin, who was hanging about underwater inside the cage. I saw a pair of legs wade to the doorway, saw the blurry outlines of orangutans through the water above, and saw a muddy, skull-shaped stone pass me in the current. There were red-glowing rubies set in each eye socket, and I knew it was immensely valuable. I bounded after it, very at-home in the water. I swam past reeds, logs, legs, and walls. After a corner or two, I quickly caught up with the stone and snatched it up in my small monkey hand.

I kept swimming down a side hallway, which was darker and painted blue. The water was gone, though it felt like my body was still swimming. I chanced a few breaths out of exhaustion and was glad to find that I could inhale, though I kept holding my breath in. There was a window display of a hiker or animal to my left, the only illumination in the hall. A heavy wooden door across from the window was ajar, and I went in. Inside, there were more hallways and doors branched off, and people, busy in work, scurrying this way and that. I noticed a blue counter manned by a young archaeologist in flannel. I approached the counter and said, "I have the livelihood, sir." The man looked up at me, his brown eyes burning. He swept his long hair out of his face and asked to see it. I felt in my pocket for the skull and came out with a mug of hot, swirling tea. I could see ash in the tea; the skull had been burned or crushed into powder and added to the water. I set the mug down on the counter between us, and he non-chalantly thanked me, picked it up, and walked off.

I shook my head again, feeling very small, and turned to a little table set up next to the counter. Covered in a decorative fabric, it displayed a few dusty pamphlets, a small, opened pouch, and a dish full of tiny charms. Curious, I used my finger to tip the pouch toward me, and found that it was full of ash similar to the stuff in the tea. The charms were very old-looking in antiqued bronze and depicted small sets of constellations. On the pamphlets, I could also see illustrations of constellations. I soon realized the powder in the pouch was the ash of ancient, incinerated constellations. I dusted my hands off and left through the doorway.

Marble & Water.

Jan. 12, 2011: The dreams last night began with me, alone, walking through a wide alleyway in a foreign city. Everything was covered in white, aged marble: the walls of every building, the floors, the statues and stairs. I was wearing a flashy white dress with large black dabs on the material and a pair of fluorescent pumps, and was headed toward a museum (though it looked like every other building). I made my way up a set of narrow, enclosed stairs, my heels echoing loudly in the empty square. I stepped into a small, windowed room and some scuffle happened, I can't quite remember. I was forced against one of the windowed walls, which showed out into a separate room, but the window was covered with long, white blinds and I couldn't see much of what was happening inside. Two or three people were moving around inside, and whoever pushed me up against the window told me not to move and joined the others in the connecting room.

A fellow captor, crouched nervously on the other side of the door, was looking up at me and breathing hard. He was unshaven and ragged. He whispered for me to get down on my knees and crawl over to him, and then we could both escape. I leaned my forehead against the window, feeling too terrified to move, but as I stood there listening to the man's heavy breathing, I decided to kneel down. I quietly crawled past the door and the old man immediately pushed my hand into a small white cube perched near him. It was open only in the front, and was covered with a white fabric that, despite the lack of wind, swayed gently. I grabbed the only thing inside, a small, porcelain bottle that broke as I squeezed it. Looking down into my hand, I saw that the glass from the bottle had disappeared, and a few dozen small, T-shaped glass objects were there instead. They were milky pink and smaller than a fleck of oat. I closed my hand carefully over them, knowing they would help aid a very sick person (I don't know if the sick person was somebody I knew or somebody the man knew; I think we both had somebody to help). I leaped down into a recessed part of the hall. Noise from the other room told us that our actions hadn't gone unnoticed, and we ran for it.

We wove our way through tightly-fitted buildings and up and down more marble stairs. I lost my shoes somewhere along the way, but we continued running through the labyrinth of a city. Every now and then, we would hide behind some large, white statue or outcropping and turn back another direction. As we found ourselves in a large town square, rushing with people, we decided we'd have to get more serious, and slid down a vast staircase that lead to the sea, which was busy with boats. The old man I was running with morphed into two women, and we continued on in haste. We landed on a small, stone sidewalk that bordered the vivid water, and jumped onto a marble port. The cold from the sea was apparent in the air here, and we jumped from one port to another, knowing we wouldn't make it and dreading the cold. One of the women with me chattering about the chills and pneumonia, and as I looked around in mid-jump, I saw that all of the people around were dressed in old-fashioned clothing. We were somewhere in the mid 1800's. Half of my body landed on the hard port, and, though I was hurt, I was glad to have escaped most of the frigid waters. We scuttled back to the mainland. (Although, still, everything was clad in the same white marble, and there was no single glimpse of Earth anywhere. The cloudy marble unnaturally lipped right against the cold sea.) As we continued running, we came to a series of fountains, patterned at about ten feet of pool and five feet of marble. Sighing, I began jumping over the waters.

Amazed at my own powers, I looked over and saw a family gasp and clap as I bounded fifteen feet in the air and landed safely on the other side. I smiled and did it again, this time with a small, midair curtsey (I was now dressed like a Gibson girl: Brown, heeled, buckled boots, a gray skirt that came to my calf, a long-sleeved, ruffled shirt in a faded blue, and even my hair was pulled in a thick, practical bun). After jumping over a few more pools, we were nearing a large hole in a wall, with the roof built outward, inviting those outside in. We made our way inside, no longer running or worried about being chased, and noticed that the sunlight didn't reach in here. The mood had suddenly changed, and greatly.

The walls were a dark, Earthen brown and dripping with natural condensation. We wound our way through what seemed to be a tunnel, and quickly found ourselves underground. We passed a number of small rooms, which each housed different disabled children. After a while, we ended up in the last room, where a young girl with obvious disfigurements was smiling at us. She was speaking with her nanny, a rounded, older lady, but was trying to get our attention. She began pointing at photos on the wall, all of her, and began pouting her lips theatrically and batting her eyelashes. It was clear that she felt very beautiful and enjoyed having somebody to pose for. As I began looking around the room, I knew there was a secret passageway that would lead us where we needed to go. While I looked elsewhere, the little girl began blowing up balloons and popping them against her chest, looking wide-eyed to see if I had noticed.

This somehow morphed into a completely different dream, where my mother and I were part of a resistance against foreign rulers. This dream is far too messy to unravel, but I don't want to completely forget about it (so any other readers can stop reading now). After racism, showers, and scarlet velvet curtains, she went to speak with one of the men in charge. We demanded latrines (this seemed very significant, and I remember in the dream, I was even shocked at our living conditions) and that they would be the ones to service them. She continued with a list of demands, and I was amazed at her strength and lack of fear. She spoke to these minions of our dictator with so much nerve, and her face was harder than I'd ever seen it in real life.

The dream this morning is equally blurry, but I'll write some of it out for myself, as well. Gabriel, Amara, and I were hiking through the forest and came to a large lake. The lake was full of people on boats, inflatables, jet-skis, and floating tents. We began walking on the very edge of the lake, a narrow, dropped-down muddy path with the mountains and forest on our left side, and the water on our right. Though the area was swarming with people, nobody spoke to us. They were busy covering themselves with bug repellent, eating food off skewers, napping, or slapping flies away. We almost seemed invisible on our small path, threaded between worlds.