07 April 2013

DREAMING


























Last night, in my dreams, I saw the planets for the first time. It is no doubt that in the last week, it seems that I have been seeing the beauty of the earth again with the added accessory of contacts. They have greatly improved my ability to, as I described my desire to the doctor to "see the finest branches at the tops of trees", but this?  I was with my mom back in Illinois down by our creek star-gazing. The sky had a navy-black hue on this night, and the galaxy was moving rapidly around us. It was as if we were cycling many moons all in a few honest minutes. We watched as the planets zoomed over our heads like a ribbon of cars on the highway. For some reason, the revolving part of the sky was narrow, while the rest remained unchanged--normal stars in a normal sky. I asked my mom at this point, "Mom, have the planets always been there for us to see? Have I been missing out all these years?" "Yes honey, you can see them now that your vision has improved," as with my contact lenses.  Somehow, I do not believe this is about getting contacts. Could it be that I'm just seeing more beauty without frames once again. Mind you, I only have a -1 prescription, and although I am a perfectionist and the slightest contrast and sharpness of something sets me into gaiety, I'm not sure my world has changed that much. As the planets whisped by, I knew them all by name. There were more than 7 of them--more than even 9. They were all covered with a wash of navy blue nighttime, with warm hues of light to outline their edges and features. The rings were the most brilliant to see. Around Saturn and Uranus, and a few others, the misty fog of dust and moon. I don't think I ever could have remembered in conscious life that Uranus had rings--I question my knowledge too much here--let alone that the dust and moons are what form them. They were brilliant and clear like I had formed them myself. I knew their every texture and pattern. I'm trying to close my eyes to see them again, but unfortunately, the day has already set in and decided my brain needs to start cycling. I'm so grateful for the swift moment, and the time spent next to my mother, if only in a dream.

Other situations seemed to occur before or after, or maybe even during this dream. Time may not be linear in a dream. The location may not be perceptual. Here, there were many people, nearly a camp of people much like a week long summer camp. The rein of said camp happened to be the very principals of my firm. The land ownership were the old neighbors we lovingly called the Tetricks. The firm had "designed" or designated (such similar words) there to be a pond high on the banks with inter-workings of docks and navigating infrastructure. The work all involved a level of gathering materials, mostly from the pond, which now became a massive lake. The creek was now underestimated in size and flowed around the perimeter with ends extending beyond site. Trees were cut down, the vegetation was unnaturally sanitary. I was burdened with the feeling of hard, endless, rewardless work and the location made me overwhelmed at the very arrival. At one point, I reflected on this feeling in a secretive way: This is the very place I used to come for solace during my first 18 years of life. I would come and sit on a humble bench, or climb over the water on a fallen tree and explore without shoes on, without judgement, with wonder and loneliness. With longing for a friend or someone to understand me. Often with tears and violent memories of occurrences that were imminent about me. I wandered with hope of someone finding me and of them appreciating the very things about me that I found to love about myself, even in those destructive teenage years. The earth was always moist and I carried some of it with me on my skin. The only place I felt I belonged to was now taken from me. I do not have these feelings for it anymore. They have been suppressed and I no longer have words to express the beauty and emotion behind it. It has become tedious to be fully present in, and manipulated by those who don't have the knowledge of its past potential. I dread the place that I once let defined me. If I cold shew out the spirits of those who weigh me down and return to the lightness I felt, head down on the bottom of my canoe. The simplicity of my problems at that time, I would not know now that they were complex and I probably needed help to overcome them, yet had no one. I'm inexplicably mourning, even now for this dreamworld's demise. Am I living in a "dreamworld" (Rilo Kiley lyrics rarely leaves my mind)? Sometimes I can't tell. I know that I check in and check out, and memories become unfactual references, while dreams become truths. I'm a bit worried for this, but not as much as my current robotic state, 8+ hours of each day.

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