I am no stranger when it comes to writing about my dreams. Earlier this year I wrote about losing my teeth at a literary event. Later, I wrote about how I woke up from a nightmare screaming out loud, the result of a nightmare. Last night I had another strange dream:
My whole family is together and we are standing at the top of a pyramid or mountainous structure. An entire population, maybe thousands of unidentified people stood behind us waiting for us to make our descent. We are gathered together on the edge of this structure looking almost straight down, many miles into a valley filled with jagged rocks and bones of those who have fallen and died. The height is dizzying. The steps which lead to the bottom of this structure are steep and shallow, each step about half the size of my foot. For leverage, there is nothing but the same steps we would walk on.
The steps are chalky white and rough, a powdery film covering each one. Should someone fall, they would never survive such a terrible distance. One by one, each family member started their descent and I watched in horror as family members who preceded me slipped, sliding into the rocky protrusions before disappearing somewhere at the bottom. In my mind, I started formulating a plan on how I would descend and make it to the bottom successfully. I witnessed a cousin fall to her death. A feeling of confidence came over me when my younger brother started his decline. He's good at everything, he'll make it with no problem. I'll do what he does. But he soon slipped and fell to his death. I prayed out loud that he wouldn't have suffered too much. I'm up next and it's my turn to step down. I took my son's hand, we're going to do this together. Balancing my foot on that first narrow step, I started to feel sick. And that's when I somehow forced myself to wake up.
It's 5:00 in the morning. This dream, maybe nightmare, didn't bother me too much. I could easily go back to sleep, but since I am way behind on my paintings for THE HIDDEN FEAST, I threw on my painting clothes, headed for the studio and went to work.
Unrelated thought for the day: I know this may be awful, but on one level I sense that Michael is guilty of something. But on another level, I am thrilled he got off. I feel for Michael because he is so different. He's the ultimate symbol of individuality, of strangeness, of being different. And I believe in one way or another, we are all different. We are all strange in the eyes of someone. And if I could read your inner thoughts, I'd probably think you are a freako, too. You'd surly think I was one knee-deep freak of the week.
Another thought:I could care less who democrats elect as their leaders. But screaming Howard Dean? Do they ever want to win elections, or are they content in their demise?