Basements & False Flesh.

I came to a party in a large, dark house. There were clocks everywhere, mostly ancient, dusty grandfather clocks, though I don't know if any were ticking. The space was unlit and the shaded windows only hid the night outside. I made my way through the crowded house and headed to the basement. The entryway down was strangely white, although the room it led to was full of shadows. There were a dozen or so people sitting and talking here, some I recognized from grade school. The air was awkward and tight. As I entered, they stared at me and I felt an overwhelming sense of intrusion.

Samwell Tarley was there, an old friend? We began talking as lightning forked quietly outside. He was standing directly in front of me, my back to the stairs. I looked at him and pushed my hip out the the right, keeping heavy eye contact with him. As I did, the ground shook violently. The walls chattered and everybody toppled over. Sam stumbled onto me and we fell backwards onto the stairs, which were now smooth and slide-like. He looked down at me, his eyes big and nervous. I smiled and kissed him. He held the kiss for a moment, but quickly pulled away frightened. I noticed the others in the room staring, looking fierce daggers at me.

I saw an old friend in a nearby chair, but he wouldn't meet my gaze. His wife walked up, scowled, and said, "I'm going to sit over here, Erica," gesturing to an empty bit of carpet in the hall I was now sitting in. There was no warmth in her, although I have known her since we were children. I rested my head against a door frame. The room it led to was filled with a muted, golden light, and was the only source of light in the dark basement. Sam looked at me from across the room and gave me a sad, puzzled look. I closed my eyes, knowing I wasn't in the right place.

When I opened my eyes, I was upstairs in a dark bathroom. I stood in front of a great, gilded brass mirror and a large, white basin sink. The walls were covered in intricate charcoal wallpaper. I had just woken up, and saw my messy, tangled hair in the mirror. I looked at my reflection and realized I had to go back downstairs and try to explain myself. I started putting on makeup, but the foundation caked onto my skin, which was extremely dry, cracked, and scaled like an animal. The powder gathered in the thin cracks, lacing my face with fine, white, criss-crossing webs. I tried to use my hands to even it out, but noticed a ragged white edge protruding from the tip of my nostril.

I looked closer and realized it was faded white canvas, buried beneath my skin. I grabbed hold of the edge of my skin and lifted gently; the canvas continued underneath as far as I could see. My skin was wet and sticky, pink and raw on its bottom. I saw the same white edge along my hairline and fingered it. I was wearing a mask of flesh, and was just a white, blank canvas sack beneath. An image of a limp, faceless scarecrow flashed in my mind, and I woke up.

Fish & Kings.

Small dreams about street gangs and reading my Farsi diary to strangers brought my head to the edge of a grey, cobbled street. One side of the street held a grand, sturdy wall, made of grey bricks and running the length of the road for a hundred feet or so. The other side of the street showed a wild, deep green forest, and the start of the road came from there as well. Along the wall, a few heavy doors and archers windows could be seen, although the place was entirely silent and still but for two people.

I watched as a handsome man was led by the hand by his sister. He was sitting awkwardly on a fat, black pony and looked extremely uncomfortable. They arrived at the start of the road and walked silently along the grey wall, him wincing and confused, her very clearly trying to look unconcerned and cool. The two passed by a large triptych of fountains, ornate and hinged together on their edges. Inside, delicate gold and lilac fish swam around lazily. There was a small hole in the bottom of each fountain (that may have brought in fresh water from below). 

As the couple walked past the fountains, the man lifted the first fountain, which hinged to the one on its left, and he emptied its contents into the next. When he set it back down, the water was gone, and one small, orange fish was caught in the hole at the bottom, her silky flesh ballooning strangely. "For all of our uses, we're too easy to forget," he said sadly, half laughing, watching the fish growing dry. His sister smiled knowingly, (somehow) lifted the central fountain, and poured its extra water back into the empty fountain. The stuck fish swam back into the water, unharmed. She nodded at him, mumbling, "There's always room for you."

They continued to walk, and soon made their way to a moderate courtyard branching off the road. This, too, was cobbled, and they stepped gingerly through the space towards a man at the far end. A chubby man with a purple cloak and a stupid-looking face stood next to a large, languid basset hound. "Kneel for the King," he shouted loudly, not looking at them. The brother turned around and saw a teenage boy seated beneath a stone arch, his eyes watching them narrowly. 

He made his way toward the young king, and when he was in front of him, attempted to dismount his horse. His face magnified oddly, and I could see the horrible burn marks across his face, still fresh. He looked up at the king apologetically, and attempted to drop to his knees in respect. As he moved, I saw that his body was made of long, white blades of ice (one for the torso, two for each arm, and two for each leg). The pieces jumbled comically as he made to kneel, swinging about madly, uncontrollably. The court rang with laughter, but his sister's mouth tightened and she started to cry. He collapsed on himself in the effort and sat in a pile of his new body parts, his face ashamed and full of sorrow. He had been disfigured terribly somehow in the war, and had returned to his new king as little more than a jester.

Games & the Red.

The dream started messily. I was wasting time in an oversize arcade with my high school boyfriend, throwing jokes over the red acrylic tabletops and winning stuffed prizes. We kept disappearing behind long, black curtains and getting lost in dark rooms burning with black light. As we made our way through the building, our hands held fast, I realized I didn't feel anything. The love that I so often channel in my dreams for him, that young, hapless love, was gone for the first time.

I kept with him, though, and we walked through a large, green set of metal doors. We found ourselves in a tall room, windowed floor to ceiling on one side and railed on the other side, separating the walkway from a series of cages and pools that were chattering with animals. A chimpanzee climbed her way up a palm tree, her body padded with a blue and yellow life jacket, and turned to smile at us. An oversize duckling waded through the water, mechanically turning when he reached the wall and swimming back again in a straight line.

About then, I realized the boyfriend and I were tied together, back-to-back, with a large, inflated ball filling the space between us. Confused, we stumbled over the railing and fell into the water. He never hit, disappeared somewhere along the way, but I was set free as soon as I hit the surface. My body arched with strength and I swept through the water, the ropes trailing behind before sinking down. I passed by the duckling and climbed up, finding my way into a cement-walled room. The floor was strewn with straw and bits of oats. Knowing this was where the animals were most often kept, I laid down on the floor, my arms spread wide, and closed my eyes. The grass and straw scratched at my cheek, but I stayed there, listening to a brown-haired woman talk off to the side.

I don't remember if I kept walking through the building or if the dream just shifted, but I ended up on the roof of my parents house. The house was actually a large tent made of silks, deep purple and white blowing theatrically in a gentle wind. Underneath my feet, the roof billowed and shifted, but I kept my footing and watched as people bustled around below. After a few minutes, I walked to the edge of the roof and peeled back the corner of the silk, where I could see a cloudy darkness stirring underneath. I lowered myself down, feet first, and let go.

A giant face flashed in front of me, black and sharp-chinned, making me feel a quick pang of recognition and affection, then I landed on the grass below. The people surrounding me were well dressed and walking about the tent, chatting casually and eating tiny finger food. That face still burned in my mind, and I set out in search of him. The grass felt good under my bare feet as I walked in circles, scanning the faces of the crowd. I saw a man standing where I originally fell, his scarlet shirt blazing in the sea of grey jackets, and made my way forward. He turned his head before I reached him, his dark face already smiling. My hand found his waist and settled on his hip bone; our bodies came together like magnets, instant and natural, inevitable.

I only remember a spell of things after that: him speaking lyrically about magic fishing nets in rivers heavy with melted snow in late summer; Peregrin Took; the taste of my teeth and the half moon of my hip. Every time I looked up into his face, the left side of his mouth would pull up in a wry smile. The red of his shirt seemed to bind us together. I was back.

Bears & Air.

I was walking home through a dusty field (which was the East side of Fairview, though not so in my dream). Ahead and to the right, the dirt sloped down and met my and Gabriel's home, a little den half-dug into the ground. An arc of twigs and straw gave the den a rounded roof. As I walked along the trail, I saw massive bear prints in the dirt, overshadowing a smaller set of child-like footprints, and a snaky line alongside, as if a young boy had been dragging a stick along on his walk. Both prints were headed in the opposite direction. I remembered the talk of bear attacks in our village, and noticed a few towns-women were walking some distance behind me, whispering in fear and clutching at their brown, baggy cloaks.

I followed the path, not leaving any footprints of my own despite walking very deliberately and sure-footedly in a pair of heavy hiking boots, and was soon able to see into the entrance of my den. Curled inside and pulsing uncomfortably was a giant grizzly bear. Only her great, rounded back was visible; she was rooting around in the ground, searching for something or trying to make herself comfortable, I don't know. Her movements suggested real angry physical agitation, and her fur was spiked along the edges, as if she had just gone for a swim. I saw traces of her face as she thrashed around, her yellow teeth catching the glare of an imperceptible sun.

Over my shoulder, I tried to hiss a warning to the women behind me, but as soon as I took breath, the bear lifted her head gave a feral roar. Tripping over herself, she barreled out of the den and up the hill towards us. I ran swiftly back the way I had come, conscious of a thankfulness that Gabriel was not at home in the den or with me then. As usual in my dreams, I ran so quickly that my feet began to catch on the air; I was floating. Using a great and uncontrolled strength, I ran nearly upwards as if up an invisible flight of stairs. Behind me, the grizzly snarled and reared, but was left on solid ground, too heavy and angry to follow me.

I made my way to a set of tall swings, where I immediately found my footing on the long, metal bar spanning the top. The bear grabbed hold of the bars and wiggled her way up, and continued following me with the bar beneath her belly and legs. I looked around, remembering a fence that nearly reached the roof of one of the old school houses. I made my way in that direction, but realized she would have too easy a time following me. Doubling back, I practically swam through the air over her head. Roaring furiously, she slipped off the bar and landed on her side in the gravel. Her fall seemed to give her greater strength, and she began jumping up, her mouth snapping near my feet.

We passed by a large structure, a roofed area with an open bottom like a picnic bunk. The roof was rounded and thatched with thin sticks, like the one covering the den. Veering to the right, I caught my side sharply on the edge of the roof and climbed up. The bear quickly circled the space and began shinnying her way up. Here, things got a little wonky as the structure turned into a sort of plastic play-place. I was still on the roof, but there was a new, bright blue enclosure around me, laced with rounded fish-eye windows and secret zip-up doorways. I stood erect, my feet planted shoulder-width apart and hands out, as if I was ready to spar. I felt prepared, but still felt a wild pang of fear when she lumbered through a slit in the wall. She stood on her hind legs, and when she threw her head back with another powerful bellow, she seemed to take up the entire room.

I tried to dive past her, under her outstretched arms, but made it half-way through the hole when she caught hold of my foot. I dangled there, upside-down and facing the dirt some fifteen feet below me, and was overcome with a the sensations of a thoughtless prey animal. I felt like a fish, limp and defeated. The bear didn't pull me back up to her, so I hung there for a few minutes, my eyes dilated and staring. I started to smell something acrid, burning, and a sureness came back to me from the feet onward. I gave a great heave and twisted my legs out of her grasp. My body kept heaving and glided through the air as if through a moving river.

Dream Music.

This is usually what I listen to when recounting dreams.

Kaia-Bontu.

After a mess of dreams involving airports, bare feet, and children with speech problems, I found myself inside a grocery store. The low ceilings, wood shelves, and deep-colored boxes and products gave it an old-world feeling, although the workers and customers were all people I knew. The light was hazy and an earthy golden brown; dust seemed to constantly be settling through the air. I was searching for squash, and an old friend from middle school was helping me look. After digging through the frozen food closets, I headed to the far side of the store. There, at the large wooden produce counter, I wondered at the fact that there was nobody there. When I looked behind the counter, I saw a few small chairs knocked over, some broken glass, a dented box or two, as if somebody left (or was taken) in a hurry. Because I knew who worked the counter (a set of twins I went to high school with), I became very worried and summoned another worker. When she saw what had happened, she agreed that they must have been taken and sounded an alarm (although I couldn't see or hear anything). All of the customers seized up with fright and started hiding behind the shelves lining the short aisles. I finally found the squash I was looking for, a large, green acorn, and tucked it into my bag before heading towards the front door.

There, I saw that the two old-fashioned kissing office doors (with fogged glass and black lettering) had been barricaded. With a jolt of fear, I assumed we had been locked in so that we couldn't escape some hiding gunman. I watched as a couple people tried breaking through, but every time they failed, they shriveled away into the corners with terror. I walked up to the doors, noticed a broomstick jamming the knobs, and kicked hard through it. As the doors flew open, the store was flooded with light and we were finally able to see what was going on outside.

The doors opened onto a large and airy square with a handful of squat, dark-eaved buildings and a white, ornamentally-tiled ground. There were three or four huddles of people in different places, and the sounds of gunshots ringing everywhere. Assuming that all of the separate groups of people were milled so close together because they were seeking protection, I ran to the nearest group, about fifty feet away. I began running, my steps fast and weighted.

While running, the scene changed and I saw two men sitting at a desk together in a basement office, looking at the same computer screen. The man on the right, a meek, mousey-haired fellow, was showing the man on the left results of an investigation (the shooting that happened outside of the grocery store). While he showed the other man what he had discovered, DNA evidence, the men accused, etc., the man on the left's mouth curled into a small smile as he said quietly, "When will you learn that there are no good people in this world?" Suddenly, the man on the right turned chalk-white, even his clothing, and a hand appeared to his right, covering his mouth. As the man tried yelling for help, the muffled sound of his voice mixed in with gunshots, and I came back to the first part of the dream, running through the square.

As I ran, completely exposed, I felt a man from one group, far off to my left, start shooting at me. I started hopping and zigging my body while I ran, trying to make it harder for him to hit me. I quickly saw that a man from the group I was running towards had pulled a handgun out and was shooting at me, too.

I gave a shout and veered left, barreling through the open space with a sure strength, and made for an island of white countertop not far away. I jumped over the top of it, slid over the counter, and found myself inside a soda jerk-type bar. I hid my head between my legs and waited, breathing. Then, I saw the scene from above. I watched as one of the gunmen jumped onto the bar, looked down at me, my body huddled up, back hunched over and my cream-colored jacket stretched taunt, and saw as a hand pointed the gleaming gun towards me and squeezed the trigger.

When I woke up, I had the word "kaia-bontu" echoing through my head. While I replayed the dream in my head, all I could hear was "kaia-bontu, kaia-bontu, kaia-bontu." I don't think I've heard the phrase before, and can't imagine what it means.

Youth & Glow.

I watched from the corner of a room as a young girl talked with her little brother about changes. They laughed and she shooed him out of the room before straightening up and fixing her hair. She walked from the room with her held held high, and as she passed her parents standing near the staircase, her face hardened with seriousness. Her parents grinned at the long, black dress she wore that was punctured here and there by curls of flesh-colored silk. They laughed at the somber look on her face and teased their young child lovingly as they watched her climb the stairs silently and stoically. As she continued up the heavy wooden staircase, eyes straight ahead and hands cupped in front of her, holding a glowing flame within, her limby body seemed to grow a bit. Her dark hair slowly lost its child-like wave and hung gracefully down her back.

As her body began to change, her parents stopped laughing and watched, wide-eyed and awed, as she ascended the stairs. Still palming the fire, the young girl reached the top of the staircase and found herself in a shadowy kitchen. She drifted toward a graying cabinet, which opened on its own accord. Inside, she peered into a small, white teacup, where a spider was restlessly trying to climb out.

(One of my mother's paintings, Freya, of me in my own youth)

Wah.

I dreamed of scrubbing the toilet clean last night. Really, brain?

Teal & Birds & Hammers.

I had a handful of short dreams last night. One involved a get-together at our home. Although the feeling wasn't somber, I knew it wasn't simply a party. I think the only people there were relatives on my father's side, who were ambling around the living room and drinking cold tea out of paper cups. I was standing near the front door, which was opened onto a bright, cold, gray day.

I stood there, near the door, and was hugging Oma. She was dressed in a long, dark teal dress that shadowed itself and appeared black at times. Knowing full well that she had passed away two weeks ago, I held onto her body, which was still moving and responsive, for a long time. She stood there, hugging me back, and smiling blankly. As I held her, I knew it wasn't truly her, that she was gone, but I couldn't stop. A knock at the door broke the scene, and I let go of Oma and saw a friend, Jen, at the door. She watched as I walked away from Oma and went to greet her.

Her eyes wide and worried, she asked who it was I was just hugging, because she knew full well that my grandmother had recently passed away. "She is gone, yes," I replied. I smiled sadly at the concerned look on her face and closed the door.

----------

Another dream began on a deserted, dirty street. It was a bright day, although there was nothing to see besides a sandy road and one large building a ways ahead. I was parked in my green car on the side of the road, and sat in the driver's seat with my mother in the passenger seat. We sat there, I think, having just finished a conversation, and ate small pieces of food quietly. Out the window, I noticed a few large, white birds flying around.

"Look at those birds, mama," I said, nodding at the windshield.

Looking not up at the birds, but over at me, she said, "I think it is so wonderful that you're finally able to see things outside of your own self."

I smiled, unhurt by her words, but knowing I had reached that point, as well.

We watched as more birds came, and they began to fly in a large, pulsing circle around our car. I could see the scene from afar, and the group contained hundreds and hundreds of birds, the swirling congregation growing all the time. From within the car, I watched through the rear-view mirror as the view followed a single bird that was flying around us. I could see half of his face in the mirror, and after a minute, he looked towards me. When we locked eyes, his pupil began to swell and I could see anger pass over his face. Then I woke up.

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I was standing outside of my front door. It was night-time, and Gabriel and Amara were the only ones home. They were playing in the basement, but the rest of the house was dark. As I went to open the front door, I noticed a brown bat fluttering around over my head. I think he was attracted to the porch light, but I tried to shoo him away. Keeping the door closed, I waited for him to fly off, afraid he would get inside if I opened the door. As I watched the bat fly around madly, I noticed a man walking up the street. Although there was nothing threatening about him, I let go of the door handle and hurried through the carport, into the backyard.

As I made my way past the deck in the backyard, I noticed a friend was with me. I went to the other side of the yard, watching the gate for activity. The man had followed, and was in the carport with two other people (a bedraggled woman and a small, angry child). I saw him pick up my father's giant hammer and throw it with incredible force over the gate and at me. I dodged it, crouching down and attempting to hide behind the deck's fencing.

I could still watch what was going on from this position, and watched as he lit a match, placed it to the end of a gigantic, silver-barreled shotgun, and aim it at me. Suddenly losing my fear, I jumped up and ran across the yard. Halfway through, the bullet, as big as a walnut and tracing through the air rather slowly with a bluish, purple tail, caught me on the left side of my lower stomach. I could feel the sting of the large bullet enter into me, and could see as a clean, two inch hole burned its way inside. I clutched myself, but wasn't at all weakened by the pain. I went for the hammer, which was still sitting in the grass, and ran powerfully at the man. I could see him recoil in slight surprise, but didn't slow down my attack. I took the hammer to the side of his head, and the scene went dark with the pieces that flew out of the other side of his temple.

Spiders & Snakes.

A few nights ago, while sharing my bed with Gabriel, I dreamed I was giving him a bath. Sitting outside our white tub, I let his fawny little body splash around for a while. I noticed something between the crook of the tub and the floor, and bent down to see a large, brown wolf spider. I picked it up, trying to keep it away from Gabriel, and brought it closer to my face. Every detail was terribly clear, and then I woke up already sitting upright with my hands frantically trying to find the spider within my white bed sheets.

---------

Last night, I dreamed I was trapped in some dark, closed room. The floor was uneven and bumpy, and a strange, teal light was somewhat muted behind the black walls. I was standing in the middle, and surrounded by four different creatures. In each corner, some poisonous animal sat, waiting. I remember a large coral snake and something like a monitor lizard there, but can't recall the other two. Knowing I had to do something to escape, I leaped full-bodied onto the snake, whose size seemed to grow rapidly under my weight. Soon, I could feel his body had swollen to the size of my own underneath my belly. I held onto the top of his head, which was thrashing about madly, and squeezed him still with my legs. He quickly shrank back to normal size, and, with a firm thumb holding his mouth fast, I paced out of the room and into the daylight.

Through my front door we walked, where the tall grass in the yard was hiding more creatures. Small mice and voles darted around threateningly, and I pried open the snakes mouth and shot his venom towards them. We kept walking through the carport, but as I looked up at one of our dead, potted plants still hanging from the eave, I began to taste his poison in my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but the bitter taste refused to go away. I walked to the backyard, thinking of nothing but mushrooms (perhaps some sort of antidote?) and woke up.

Horses & A Live Death.

The dream took a few messy turns and left me sitting in the back of a car with my brother and one of his friends filling up the front seats. We were driving through a tunnel on a windy mountain road, although it wasn't mountainous like here, it was more untamed, wet, and green. As we drove down the hill, I watched as an unmanned car in front of us was pulled by a small horse. He was my own, this young horse, and I kept a nervous eye on him as he guided the cart through the road.

We passed a number of small horses, all ambling around and chewing up the long, dewy ferns that dripped down from the forest. As we drove slowly past, the horses looked up, alert and curious, but they quickly disappeared from view in the large clouds of dust our car kicked up in its wake.

When we got to a split in the road, I watched as my small horse had difficulty with the broken-down car it was hauling. I jumped out of my brother's car, knowing it was foolish to have let the horse ride alone, and sprinted to its side. He had pulled over to a turn in the road, which led to a new road unseen that ran into the depths of a very dense forest on the hillside. The small, auburn horse was shaking nervously, making it difficult to untie him to the car he was pulling. Trying to comfort him, I stroked his bony side and whispered into his ear. He gave a loud whinny, and I looked up to see a very old friend standing some ten or fifteen paces in front of us, just at the edge of the forest. My horse watched her with wide, wild eyes as I continued to look back and forth between the two. The friend, a peaceful and quiet girl, stood there unmoving, and seemed to take no notice of us.

We stood that way for about thirty seconds when, suddenly, a large, black creature swooped down from the sky and overtook the girl. As if the creature was made of smoke, it surrounded the girl lovingly and seemed to become her. The horse kicked up its front legs in terror and dashed away into the forest. I stood there, alone and horrified, and watched as my friend's head snapped back, and, looking up, began to float high into the air. Her body was billowing and black, and she seemed to have large, spiny wings, her skin a mottled, icy blue. As she floated upward, her body began to glow with a wicked, unnatural blue. Her skin began to fade into a simple, leering skeleton, and then, the being swiftly let free a tremendous, physical boom (like a silent atomic explosion, though all I could feel was the shock waves through my body and ear canal, and watched as the rest of the forest was disturbed in a wave of movement) and flew away with a demonic shriek into the depths of the forest.

Petrified, I thought of my friend, who I knew was still somewhere within the beast, and of my horse, who, in the dream, I knew, was like my child. I gave a fearful look back to the boys, who were still sitting in his car behind me, and ran off into the forest in search of the horse. I fought my way in, hindered by gigantic, thick plants, and tried to prepare myself for the horrors within (which meant, for me, not only the possibility of meeting that dark, demonic creature, but also the chance of not being able to find my little horse). Trying to push my own fears aside, I made my way through the forest, looking for any sign of life.

I could hear a distant, deep moaning coming from the other side of the hill, and then quickly noticed a shuffling of leaves far off to my left. I saw my brown little horse walk out of a clearing in the jungled hill, seemingly unhurt and walking on what appeared to be a hidden path that got lost in the underbrush. I breathed a sigh of relief and made my way in his direction. Behind him, another horse was following on the path, and then another, and another. I was stunned to see a dozen or so young horses make their way, one at a time in a well-paced line, out of the dark jungle and into the clearing. Then I woke up.

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.

Staircases & Sorry.

Nov. 29, 2010: I dreamt last night I was back in the Army. The scene was strange… I was in an incredibly large room, like a warehouse or stage place, with big, paper mache trees curling out of the walls and navy blue fabric draped along the ceiling. It felt as if I was outdoors (though we obviously weren’t) and part of some youthful tree-house club. It was early morning and still dark. I passed a number of rooms full of people doing their PT; I could hear them through large windows, chanting in unison with un-sleepy voices. Knowing I should have been working out, too, I smiled to myself, knowing I was allowed to make a number of my own rules.

Turning left past the windowed rooms, I began walking down a wide, long staircase, carpeted dark blue and leading to a high and impressive, star-sprinkled hall. Making my way down the stairs, the scene changed. The walls became white, the atmosphere less magical and much plainer. A number of people were mulling about the bottom of the staircase- we were students waiting around for classes to begin. I started folding an extra par of jeans somebody handed me, and as I set them down on a nearby pew, I looked up to see an old friend, staring at me sheepishly. His hair, which had always been long, was shaved close, leaving his head darker and more serious than I had ever seen. Forgetting I had just folded the pants, I smiled, walked quickly over to him with the now unfolded pair still in my grasp, and gave him a hug. Although we recently had a bit of a falling out, I was glad to see him. We walked a ways away from the crowd, his arm around my waist. A dark-haired, spectacled man (who was my lover in the dream), gave me a concerned look, frowning at the friend’s hand near my hip. I smiled at him, waved him off, and plucked my friend’s hand off my waist as we made our way to a quieter spot.

He began apologizing and telling me how much he truly cared about me (I’ve already had this happen in a recent dream). I stood, listening with disinterest, and kept shaking my head. Another friend popped up, his eyes narrowed, listening to the conversation. After a minute of hearing his apologies, the new friend began berating the old friend, telling him he didn’t know how to treat me and didn’t deserve to stand next to me. They nearly began to fight, but just then, the crowd of people started making their way up the staircase for classes. We filed in, one friend behind me and one in front. The staircase was now incredibly slim, with benches on both sides, like arena seating. I remember wearing heeled boots, and the feeling of the thick carpet under my soles. When we got to a landing, which was more like a small room, the two friends took fighting stances, and everybody stopped climbing the stairs to watch. I rolled my eyes, yelling at them both for being so ridiculous.

Hunger & Family.

Nov. 28, 2010: Had an ugly mess of dreams last night after a quietly emotional evening.

The first was a dream of excess: drinks, legs, dancing, big, gaping mouths… I was sitting at a bar with a number of people, including a casual friend I haven’t seen since my freshman year of high school, named Jeremiah. We all sat, slouched and lazy, over wooden bar stools and made loud jokes while drinking gin and watching high-heeled women stumble through the crowd. After a while, my friend became uncomfortable and decided to leave. I can’t remember much of the rest of the dream, except for me buying two drinks at a time and referring to the bar as the “watering hole.”

The second dream is also a blur, but instead of being one of piggishness, it focused on the opposite. I was in some sort of camp, I think as a prisoner of war, with a few other people. We were in a roomy encampment with fenced walls and dirt floors. Some of us had lean-tos or one small wall of fence for a bit of privacy. We were all filthy, extremely emaciated, and wearing rags. My skin was dark with dirt and sun, and my fingernails were long and yellowing. I decided that I needed to find Gabriel, who I knew was being held in another camp, and simply climbed the fence and walked off (there were no guards). I found Gabriel, who looked healthy, though he was also wearing rags, picked him up, and brought him to the kitchen. I knew he was hungry, even hungrier than I. The kitchen was a spacious room in the exact style of an aunt of mine’s old home. I had to step over moldy mounds and disgusting, festering cracks on the ground. As I began rifling through the old cupboards, I realized there would be nothing here for us. In the fridge, I found a wedge of old lettuce covered in mayonnaise, which I knew was no good. I took a small bite to test it out, anyway, and, with the curdled bite in my mouth, I looked up to the back doorway and saw my father standing there. He shook his head slightly, and I spat out the lettuce. He was finely dressed and posed an impressive sight, standing tall and strong in the door. He was some sort of political power there, and I knew he could help us find food. I began to beg him for something to eat, telling him that Gabriel wouldn’t survive unless he led us to the food. He wasn’t allowed to help prisoners, and kept repeating that fact, but I grew angrier and angrier.

“He’s your grandson!” I screamed, finding myself suddenly standing in the gutter of a side street near my old middle school. My father shook his head sadly, and the dream ended.

Foxes & Octagons.

Nov. 10, 2010: Last night, my dreams flurried through rooms full of high-heeled, brunette women (who were all still rather shorter than me) and landed meaninglessly at our home, though it was a little different than our real home. With its wide eaves and grey walls, it was almost like a melding of our home and our Eastern neighbor’s home. With a small but seemingly heavy group of people, I made a mess of bringing Gabriel over to his cousin’s house, who lives eight doors down. This part is fuzzy to me, but I remember returning to her house, and running flat-out down the dark street in terrified haste. I was barefooted and felt each hard step in painful satisfaction. I needed to get to my cousin’s house, I needed to tell her something dire.

On my way, I passed a foster home, the white-blonde haired matron sitting outside on her porch, watching me with sunglasses on and an uncharacteristic, ugly look on her face. I ran past, and met a small, chubby girl sitting in the grass a few houses down. She was waiting for me, and angry that I somehow neglected her dog (or was it a fox?). I apologized, hastily explained myself away, and began running again. Before I reached her house, I spotted a small fox and a little, scruffy red dog (who seemed like am imposter to me). Out of sight, the dog began to bite the fox, and I broke them up, nudged the dog away, and set off toward my cousin’s doorstep, which was also, unlike its real-life counterpart, eaved and differently painted.

Although it was dark when I left my home, my cousin’s land was light as day. I knocked once and walked through the door. It led me to her backyard, which was empty except for a giant oak tree in the middle. The tree had a great, wooden house built in around in, lifted off the ground and wonkily octagonal. I noticed another baby fox next to the front door, and grew more worried. When I reached the tree-house, I saw my cousin, nine months pregnant, sitting inside, and lumbered in after her. When I got in, we began to talk seriously (about what, I can’t remember), and the house started spinning on its trunk of an axis. The scene grew distorted and drunken, the yard blurring and magnifying strangely. I felt compelled to tell her about the foxes I had seen on the way- somehow they meant something.

We finished our conversation and I left the tree house, it was night again. I tripped over the little foxes and dog, and stumbled home.