I was walking up a hill, leaving somewhere I had been and going somewhere with purpose. I carried in my left hand an empty string bag, lined with fabric. The hill was long and steep before me, an arduous climb, so I thrust my left hand into the air, casting the bag and catching the wind which lifted me off my feet and into the air. The bag, like a sail, pulled me up above the traffic that I could see below to my right—trucks and cars in a long line winding up the long and steep road, curling and twisting around the bends of a cliff face. Below me to the left was the ocean and a sandy shore.
I suddenly became aware of the flimsiness of the bag, so small to carry a woman. With my doubt, I began to sink toward the ground. I realised that my flight was not only dependant on the wind—it was also a matter of faith. I determined to believe in flying and instantly I was again sailing onward and upward, parallel to the top of the cliff.
I began to worry about obstacles such as insects, thinking of the force with which they collide with the windscreens of cars. Again, my fears manifested and a fly flew through the air directly toward me. At the right moment, I swiped it with my right hand, knocking it from my path. I flew onward, my string bag, ballooning in front of me. A magpie flying through the sky came to investigate me. I was a little nervous that it would attack but instead it simply looked curiously at me, flying around me a few times, looking me in the eye, before flying away. I looked ahead and could see a v of ducks, their arrowed flight aimed surely at me. I had time to consider what to do, knowing that I couldn’t control the direction of my path, at least not quickly. When the navigating duck in the lead flew close enough, I placed my hand gently on its long brown neck as it passed and pushed it slightly to my right, guiding it around me. I watched as the ducks all passed safely, following their leader; the feeling of the soft feathers under my palm stayed with me.
Saturday 28 April 2007
Friday 27 April 2007
room
I was inside a room with other people. The walls of the room were solid brick and the room was semi-underground; the southern side of the room was ground level so that you could walk straight out onto the grass, whilst the ground on the northern side of the room was level with the windows, so that you could look out and see feet walking past. I was half lying on a wide lounge, facing south, with people either side who were stroking my face — we were waiting for something. There was a noise outside the northern window and we looked behind us to the window, which was without a glass pane. There was a faint blue light coming through, like it was a sunny day outside. I could hear a man’s voice as he spoke to someone, and a warm gust of air blew through the window, carrying soft dog hair in to the room, blown on the wind and gleaming in the light. I knew that he must be patting a dog outside.
I stood up and walked to the southern doorway and out onto the grassy slope. We were perched atop a hill that looked over a valley thick with houses all richly coloured – dark greens, reds, browns and blues. I understood that we were in New Zealand or somewhere like it. As I looked to the left, the valley grasses met a deep blue lake which was breathtakingly beautiful. I walked towards it, the air growing cooler as I approached it. I could see lush green plants growing around the edges of the water and in the more shallow regions; they resembled monstera deliciosa or other such plants in structure with huge emerald glossy leaves on strong reaching stalks.
I waded into the water without actually undressing, but somehow I was unaware of clothing of any kind on my body. I plunged my body into the clear water, relishing in the coolness and in the motion of gentle waves. I lay on my back, floating on the waves, riding them up and down, aware of the old volcanic rocks that may be hidden under the water. At some point, other people joined me and went even further into the lake.
Later, I was in the room again, this time in a class room situation. A girl was giving the teacher flowers, passing each flower to her slowly, one at a time. The five or so flowers were varying shades of pink, each a different species, that together formed a simple but beautiful bouquet. We left the room to go upstairs where there was a theatre. A woman had organised the running of the theatre, a benefactress of sorts, and was showing artwork there. I ran back down the stairs, noticing imprints of her artwork in the very steps, back into the room where I had forgotten something. There was another group of people in the room now — learning. I checked behind the door, close to where I had been sitting, for the thing I had forgotten.
I stood up and walked to the southern doorway and out onto the grassy slope. We were perched atop a hill that looked over a valley thick with houses all richly coloured – dark greens, reds, browns and blues. I understood that we were in New Zealand or somewhere like it. As I looked to the left, the valley grasses met a deep blue lake which was breathtakingly beautiful. I walked towards it, the air growing cooler as I approached it. I could see lush green plants growing around the edges of the water and in the more shallow regions; they resembled monstera deliciosa or other such plants in structure with huge emerald glossy leaves on strong reaching stalks.
I waded into the water without actually undressing, but somehow I was unaware of clothing of any kind on my body. I plunged my body into the clear water, relishing in the coolness and in the motion of gentle waves. I lay on my back, floating on the waves, riding them up and down, aware of the old volcanic rocks that may be hidden under the water. At some point, other people joined me and went even further into the lake.
Later, I was in the room again, this time in a class room situation. A girl was giving the teacher flowers, passing each flower to her slowly, one at a time. The five or so flowers were varying shades of pink, each a different species, that together formed a simple but beautiful bouquet. We left the room to go upstairs where there was a theatre. A woman had organised the running of the theatre, a benefactress of sorts, and was showing artwork there. I ran back down the stairs, noticing imprints of her artwork in the very steps, back into the room where I had forgotten something. There was another group of people in the room now — learning. I checked behind the door, close to where I had been sitting, for the thing I had forgotten.
Friday 20 April 2007
other she
It was night and I was asleep in bed. I sensed that something was amiss and leaned over the end of the bed to see through the door to the living space. Though it was dark, I could see that my bag and other things were strewn across the floor. I went to have a better look. My wallet had been stolen but the bag had been left, lying on the ground. I noticed that my camera and laptop were untouched. I woke a friend and we went to look together.
We heard a noise from a bedroom, that in waking life does not exist, which came off the internal wall of the living space. We looked inside and could see that the bed was rumpled and that someone was in it. The person awoke and sat up—it was my friend, although she was standing beside me. It was a part of her that had somehow become another person. The other her was ‘less than’: she was a warped version of herself – her expressions different, her voice distorted like a slowed down recording and her being not as complete. We knew it was she that had taken my wallet. The other her was bleeding from a wound on her temple. She got up and sort of staggered around and somehow shut the real she outside the house. She came close to me; I felt nervous. I asked her how she had hurt her head and she answered, ‘You did it.’ At that, she started to hit the side of my face, at first quite gently, but I knew she was dangerous.
I had a strange sensation and had to get something out of my throat. I opened my mouth and began pulling at something slimy. I pulled and pulled, trying to get a firm grip on the thing, pulling it out of my mouth, out of my throat. When it was out, it was a grey, slimy cord, about a foot long and quite thick. I felt there was more to get out.
The real she made it back into the house and eventually outsmarted her shadow. It was understood that only the real version could contain or eliminate the other version of herself.
Next, I was back in bed again and it was dark. My friend came in and said something and I wanted to check it was really her. I flicked the switch on the light but it was broken. I willed the lights on and they slowly came on, lighting the room, revealing that it was the friend that I knew and trusted. I asked her where the other she was, and she said that she had locked her out: she was asleep in the foyer. I felt pity for the other she but was afraid that she would return. Sure enough, just then we heard keys in the door: our building manager was letting her in, thinking it was the real one. We could hear the clink of bottles and felt afraid.
We heard a noise from a bedroom, that in waking life does not exist, which came off the internal wall of the living space. We looked inside and could see that the bed was rumpled and that someone was in it. The person awoke and sat up—it was my friend, although she was standing beside me. It was a part of her that had somehow become another person. The other her was ‘less than’: she was a warped version of herself – her expressions different, her voice distorted like a slowed down recording and her being not as complete. We knew it was she that had taken my wallet. The other her was bleeding from a wound on her temple. She got up and sort of staggered around and somehow shut the real she outside the house. She came close to me; I felt nervous. I asked her how she had hurt her head and she answered, ‘You did it.’ At that, she started to hit the side of my face, at first quite gently, but I knew she was dangerous.
I had a strange sensation and had to get something out of my throat. I opened my mouth and began pulling at something slimy. I pulled and pulled, trying to get a firm grip on the thing, pulling it out of my mouth, out of my throat. When it was out, it was a grey, slimy cord, about a foot long and quite thick. I felt there was more to get out.
The real she made it back into the house and eventually outsmarted her shadow. It was understood that only the real version could contain or eliminate the other version of herself.
Next, I was back in bed again and it was dark. My friend came in and said something and I wanted to check it was really her. I flicked the switch on the light but it was broken. I willed the lights on and they slowly came on, lighting the room, revealing that it was the friend that I knew and trusted. I asked her where the other she was, and she said that she had locked her out: she was asleep in the foyer. I felt pity for the other she but was afraid that she would return. Sure enough, just then we heard keys in the door: our building manager was letting her in, thinking it was the real one. We could hear the clink of bottles and felt afraid.
Wednesday 18 April 2007
strange
Dreamed mid March 2007
I went into a very large toilet cubicle. There was a young Chinese man standing inside with his back to the toilet. I was wearing a white singlet top and a voluminous bright yellow silk skirt. I raised the skirt, the folds of fabric slipping against each other, making a whispering swishing sound, and sat on the toilet seat, exposing my thighs. The man turned, and told me that he liked male anatomy. I answered that I am happy with who I am.
I left the cubicle and was in a small book and music shop. There was music playing—a female vocalist singing about a blackbird and the lost horizon—and a grey-bearded man of about seventy was standing behind the counter, serving customers. I went to the counter with my purse and waited my turn, not knowing what I was going to buy. He turned to me and put three cds in a bag, all by the same female vocalist, and wanted me to take them for free. I felt I must buy something from him to warrant the gift, so he helped my look through the shop for something suitable. He went to a wooden stand by the street-level window and pulled a video off the shelf with a picture of a mountain and a valley on the front cover, asking if my family had a video recorder. I told him that they did but it was old and made a scratching sound. Instead, he pulled an atlas from the shelf with a blue cover, and I felt certain that this was the book to buy; it cost around $30. We went back to the counter whilst we made the transaction and by now he had changed into a woman of the same age. She was trying to tell me something and I was trying to listen to her, but there were two old women on my left, both on my side of the counter, talking loudly, their voices penetrating, even hurting my ears. I tried to quiet them, telling them that I wanted to hear what the saleswoman had to say.
Next, I was in a bedroom, sitting on the carpeted floor, a couple of metres from the foot of the queen-sized bed. I was playing the cds that the man/woman had given me. There was a young woman asleep in the bed and I was concerned about disturbing her. I decided to move my things—the cds, some bottles of nail polish, a couple of bottles of perfume, and the atlas—to my own room. Brenda helped me move them and I remember worrying that we would make the room untidy. Brenda told me not to worry, that everything would be OK, that it is fine to leave things out of place. She also said to notice the season.
I realised that summer was changing into autumn and, although I love the cool, I felt the pang of time passing, the regret of losing the summer afternoons, the warm days shortening. I was then outside, following a train track though travelling above the track, just moving through the air. I was travelling through the suburbs where I grew up, watching the angle of the sun and seeing the backyards of very suburban houses. I saw how much the area had changed, how what used to be a scrubby creek haunted by dragonflies and mosquitoes, had become houses perched either side as though it were a kind of waterfront. I could see an old woman with dyed black hair sleeping in the sun, propped on a worn couch in the yard, half sitting, half lying, with her head lolling to one side. I could see buckets and pieces of car, scattered in the yards.
Further along, I saw a billboard that was playing an advertisement for the area. It talked of regeneration and the environment and featured a species of green frog that was apparently enjoying the new development. The advertisement ended and the billboard returned to a still picture depicting the frog hiding under a leafy plant so that only its eyes were visible. They looked creepy, the eyes possibly belonging to another, more sinister creature.
I then realised that I was no longer travelling above the track but I was moving through very shallow water—I was floating, sitting up, down the creek between the backyards, surrounded by bush, and there was someone with me. I could feel something wound around my back, perhaps a vine from one of the trees, and it pulled me faster through the murky water. I then saw that it was a very long brown snake, its body curled around me, its head and tail disappearing ahead in the water. I felt mounting terror and my body though moving forward, was immobilised by my fear. I wanted it away from me. Suddenly I was freed and I was enormously relieved.
I then noticed two babies playing in the ankle deep water – one blue-eyed, the other brown. I felt protective of them however, at intervals they transformed into strange brown snakes which watched us, poised, waiting to strike, at times rearing up behind my back—I felt horrified. One snake turned back into the brown-eyed baby whilst the other snake slid over and stared at me with blue eyes. Knowing I might anger it but not knowing what else to do, I threw a grey blanket over the snake but it kept slithering out. In desperation, I grabbed the snake, gripping it around the throat with my right hand, jut below its head, my left hand holding it further down its body. Its teeth could only just reach my fist and it tried in vain to bite my hand, its body writhing violently. A large pink protrusion like a tongue began to emerge from its mouth, poking out and then dividing into three sections – a forked tongue. Its tongue lashed at me, one section sticking to my fist like a leech and burning my skin. It became a test of wills and, despite the scalding sensation from the snake’s tongue still sucking at my hand and its furious thrashing body, I held onto the snake.
I went into a very large toilet cubicle. There was a young Chinese man standing inside with his back to the toilet. I was wearing a white singlet top and a voluminous bright yellow silk skirt. I raised the skirt, the folds of fabric slipping against each other, making a whispering swishing sound, and sat on the toilet seat, exposing my thighs. The man turned, and told me that he liked male anatomy. I answered that I am happy with who I am.
I left the cubicle and was in a small book and music shop. There was music playing—a female vocalist singing about a blackbird and the lost horizon—and a grey-bearded man of about seventy was standing behind the counter, serving customers. I went to the counter with my purse and waited my turn, not knowing what I was going to buy. He turned to me and put three cds in a bag, all by the same female vocalist, and wanted me to take them for free. I felt I must buy something from him to warrant the gift, so he helped my look through the shop for something suitable. He went to a wooden stand by the street-level window and pulled a video off the shelf with a picture of a mountain and a valley on the front cover, asking if my family had a video recorder. I told him that they did but it was old and made a scratching sound. Instead, he pulled an atlas from the shelf with a blue cover, and I felt certain that this was the book to buy; it cost around $30. We went back to the counter whilst we made the transaction and by now he had changed into a woman of the same age. She was trying to tell me something and I was trying to listen to her, but there were two old women on my left, both on my side of the counter, talking loudly, their voices penetrating, even hurting my ears. I tried to quiet them, telling them that I wanted to hear what the saleswoman had to say.
Next, I was in a bedroom, sitting on the carpeted floor, a couple of metres from the foot of the queen-sized bed. I was playing the cds that the man/woman had given me. There was a young woman asleep in the bed and I was concerned about disturbing her. I decided to move my things—the cds, some bottles of nail polish, a couple of bottles of perfume, and the atlas—to my own room. Brenda helped me move them and I remember worrying that we would make the room untidy. Brenda told me not to worry, that everything would be OK, that it is fine to leave things out of place. She also said to notice the season.
I realised that summer was changing into autumn and, although I love the cool, I felt the pang of time passing, the regret of losing the summer afternoons, the warm days shortening. I was then outside, following a train track though travelling above the track, just moving through the air. I was travelling through the suburbs where I grew up, watching the angle of the sun and seeing the backyards of very suburban houses. I saw how much the area had changed, how what used to be a scrubby creek haunted by dragonflies and mosquitoes, had become houses perched either side as though it were a kind of waterfront. I could see an old woman with dyed black hair sleeping in the sun, propped on a worn couch in the yard, half sitting, half lying, with her head lolling to one side. I could see buckets and pieces of car, scattered in the yards.
Further along, I saw a billboard that was playing an advertisement for the area. It talked of regeneration and the environment and featured a species of green frog that was apparently enjoying the new development. The advertisement ended and the billboard returned to a still picture depicting the frog hiding under a leafy plant so that only its eyes were visible. They looked creepy, the eyes possibly belonging to another, more sinister creature.
I then realised that I was no longer travelling above the track but I was moving through very shallow water—I was floating, sitting up, down the creek between the backyards, surrounded by bush, and there was someone with me. I could feel something wound around my back, perhaps a vine from one of the trees, and it pulled me faster through the murky water. I then saw that it was a very long brown snake, its body curled around me, its head and tail disappearing ahead in the water. I felt mounting terror and my body though moving forward, was immobilised by my fear. I wanted it away from me. Suddenly I was freed and I was enormously relieved.
I then noticed two babies playing in the ankle deep water – one blue-eyed, the other brown. I felt protective of them however, at intervals they transformed into strange brown snakes which watched us, poised, waiting to strike, at times rearing up behind my back—I felt horrified. One snake turned back into the brown-eyed baby whilst the other snake slid over and stared at me with blue eyes. Knowing I might anger it but not knowing what else to do, I threw a grey blanket over the snake but it kept slithering out. In desperation, I grabbed the snake, gripping it around the throat with my right hand, jut below its head, my left hand holding it further down its body. Its teeth could only just reach my fist and it tried in vain to bite my hand, its body writhing violently. A large pink protrusion like a tongue began to emerge from its mouth, poking out and then dividing into three sections – a forked tongue. Its tongue lashed at me, one section sticking to my fist like a leech and burning my skin. It became a test of wills and, despite the scalding sensation from the snake’s tongue still sucking at my hand and its furious thrashing body, I held onto the snake.
change
Dreamed the night of 7th March 2007
I was with Brenda outside mondo on the cemented car space area out the back. We were lying on the ground with our heads uphill, cocooned in our quilt. Sonja was standing to our left. My perspective changed: my body or sight travelled down Loch Street, on level with the treetops, up to Katrine Street and I viewed the art deco apartment block which is at the intersection of the two streets. I flew, or rather, my sight like a camera, saw down into the building and entered it via an opening between the walls and the roof. I could see that the top level consisted of a royal blue carpeted loft area with four study desks, big desks with computers and matching chairs. From here I could also see a large bed down on the next level, larger than a king-sized bed. I had the impression that a few people might share the bed.
Next, I was on one of the bottom floors of the apartment building, possibly the ground floor. I was lying in bed and it was morning. I woke, realised I was in bed with my friend KM, and I went to the bathroom to go to the toilet. She followed me in and appeared to be angry. She had been sick during the night and was upset that I hadn’t noticed. We had a gentle scuffle and I might have thrown her through the glass window that overlooked the garden. She then told me she was pregnant and I felt a vast ocean of mixed emotions rising in my chest.
We were then sitting in front of a refrigerator and there were lots of cards, photographs and pieces of paper stuck to the door with magnets. I didn’t like the look of it, preferring a clean surface and wished that someone would take it down. I looked more carefully and realised that the memorabilia was mine. I started to sort through old photographs, cards from my teenage years, old bookmarks, pieces of fabric and such—it was time to remove them.
I was with Brenda outside mondo on the cemented car space area out the back. We were lying on the ground with our heads uphill, cocooned in our quilt. Sonja was standing to our left. My perspective changed: my body or sight travelled down Loch Street, on level with the treetops, up to Katrine Street and I viewed the art deco apartment block which is at the intersection of the two streets. I flew, or rather, my sight like a camera, saw down into the building and entered it via an opening between the walls and the roof. I could see that the top level consisted of a royal blue carpeted loft area with four study desks, big desks with computers and matching chairs. From here I could also see a large bed down on the next level, larger than a king-sized bed. I had the impression that a few people might share the bed.
Next, I was on one of the bottom floors of the apartment building, possibly the ground floor. I was lying in bed and it was morning. I woke, realised I was in bed with my friend KM, and I went to the bathroom to go to the toilet. She followed me in and appeared to be angry. She had been sick during the night and was upset that I hadn’t noticed. We had a gentle scuffle and I might have thrown her through the glass window that overlooked the garden. She then told me she was pregnant and I felt a vast ocean of mixed emotions rising in my chest.
We were then sitting in front of a refrigerator and there were lots of cards, photographs and pieces of paper stuck to the door with magnets. I didn’t like the look of it, preferring a clean surface and wished that someone would take it down. I looked more carefully and realised that the memorabilia was mine. I started to sort through old photographs, cards from my teenage years, old bookmarks, pieces of fabric and such—it was time to remove them.
hair in my throat
Dreamed the night of 20th February 2007
I was a guest at a dinner party. Before dinner, I went to the toilet and, to my dismay, found that the only toilet paper was blue, green and yellow floral paper serviettes, stacked neatly on the hand basin. I flushed the toilet, but instead of a usual flush, water fell from an overhead shower rose, down into the bowl, filling it quickly, rising up and over the sides. Alarmed, I plunged my arm into the bowl, the water reaching up to my elbow, and extracted the serviette from the s-bend, unblocking the toilet. I cleaned up the floor with more napkins and then set about scrubbing my hands and arms in the sink with soap and water.
I looked in the mirror and realised that I had something stuck in my throat. I opened my mouth and found a hair that I started to pull. I could feel it sliding up my throat and out of my mouth. The hair kept coming and, as I pulled, strings of jeweled necklaces emerged from my throat – pale green stones threaded together and multi-coloured glass beads, glinting in the dim light. Finally, I pulled green veins of thick spit out of my throat, like a magician pulling scarves out of his sleeve, and my throat felt clear.
I walked down the hall and into the dining room where everyone was waiting. I apologised for being late and sat at the table. The host began to introduce me to an illustrator who was present, and whose work everyone was admiring. He was a very short, rotund man in his forties, with a thick accent. Again I felt as though my throat was blocked and, coughing, excused myself as best I could before leaving the room and returning to the mirror.
There, I opened my mouth wide and found another hair which I pinched it between my fingers and delicately pulled at it until it started sliding up and out of my throat. I felt it growing thicker, and it became white cotton and then dental floss. I continued to draw it from my mouth, the pile of hair and thread growing in the bathroom sink. Suddenly, the string expanded into a clump of hair like a long pony tail cut from someone’s head and my throat was clear. I looked at the last chunk of hair and realised that it was my ex-partner’s.
I was a guest at a dinner party. Before dinner, I went to the toilet and, to my dismay, found that the only toilet paper was blue, green and yellow floral paper serviettes, stacked neatly on the hand basin. I flushed the toilet, but instead of a usual flush, water fell from an overhead shower rose, down into the bowl, filling it quickly, rising up and over the sides. Alarmed, I plunged my arm into the bowl, the water reaching up to my elbow, and extracted the serviette from the s-bend, unblocking the toilet. I cleaned up the floor with more napkins and then set about scrubbing my hands and arms in the sink with soap and water.
I looked in the mirror and realised that I had something stuck in my throat. I opened my mouth and found a hair that I started to pull. I could feel it sliding up my throat and out of my mouth. The hair kept coming and, as I pulled, strings of jeweled necklaces emerged from my throat – pale green stones threaded together and multi-coloured glass beads, glinting in the dim light. Finally, I pulled green veins of thick spit out of my throat, like a magician pulling scarves out of his sleeve, and my throat felt clear.
I walked down the hall and into the dining room where everyone was waiting. I apologised for being late and sat at the table. The host began to introduce me to an illustrator who was present, and whose work everyone was admiring. He was a very short, rotund man in his forties, with a thick accent. Again I felt as though my throat was blocked and, coughing, excused myself as best I could before leaving the room and returning to the mirror.
There, I opened my mouth wide and found another hair which I pinched it between my fingers and delicately pulled at it until it started sliding up and out of my throat. I felt it growing thicker, and it became white cotton and then dental floss. I continued to draw it from my mouth, the pile of hair and thread growing in the bathroom sink. Suddenly, the string expanded into a clump of hair like a long pony tail cut from someone’s head and my throat was clear. I looked at the last chunk of hair and realised that it was my ex-partner’s.
houses
Dreamed the night of 4th April 2007
I dreamed of looking for a home. We, myself and another woman, were searching long streets of houses. We had found a house and were going back for a second viewing. Upon entering the house, it looked more shabby and depressing than I had remembered it and I suddenly recalled that I had lived there before. I had entirely forgotten about a year of my life in this house and I knew that I did not want to live there again. The loungeroom was at the front of the house, the floor sloping disconcertingly downward to the street and covered in a grey based floral carpet that was curling upward at the edges. I poked my head around the corner and could see an old kitchen under yellow light and remembered that the bedroom was down a hall to the left of the kitchen; an awkwardly designed home with no flow between the rooms.
There was a small girl with curling dark brown hair in the loungeroom. She was about four years old. She walked out the back into the yard and then into a different part of the house. I followed her and found her sitting in front of a fireplace, cutting her hair. She asked me to help her, so I took the blunt scissors and started to cut off ringlets of her hair, until it was quite short. Her mother came into the room and admired the haircut. I felt relieved as I thought she may have disapproved.
I then left the house, at times driving and at times walking, around the streets, looking for my home. I understood that I was in a suburb on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. I found myself moving down a street that ended in a cul-de-sac curved around a park. There were families relaxing, children playing and groups of women talking in the park. I drove down to the end of the street, intending to turn around, but drove straight into the water, a pond that skirted the edges of the street. The women watched as I climbed out of the water, pulling my car after me, and drove away.
Later, I was in a house that Brenda and I were house-minding. The owners were due to come home and so we cleaned the house from top to bottom, taking everything out of each room, thoroughly cleaning the room, and then replacing the furniture, sorting any rubbish as we went. I was trying to make everything fresh and beautiful.
Lastly, I was in the passenger seat of a car and we were driving down a wide, undulating street toward the ocean, rising and dipping with each wave in the road. The waves were echoed by the waves of the ocean that we could see stretched out below us. Everything was vivid blue and sparkling, glittering even: the sky, the ocean, the very air. I felt very happy and free.
I dreamed of looking for a home. We, myself and another woman, were searching long streets of houses. We had found a house and were going back for a second viewing. Upon entering the house, it looked more shabby and depressing than I had remembered it and I suddenly recalled that I had lived there before. I had entirely forgotten about a year of my life in this house and I knew that I did not want to live there again. The loungeroom was at the front of the house, the floor sloping disconcertingly downward to the street and covered in a grey based floral carpet that was curling upward at the edges. I poked my head around the corner and could see an old kitchen under yellow light and remembered that the bedroom was down a hall to the left of the kitchen; an awkwardly designed home with no flow between the rooms.
There was a small girl with curling dark brown hair in the loungeroom. She was about four years old. She walked out the back into the yard and then into a different part of the house. I followed her and found her sitting in front of a fireplace, cutting her hair. She asked me to help her, so I took the blunt scissors and started to cut off ringlets of her hair, until it was quite short. Her mother came into the room and admired the haircut. I felt relieved as I thought she may have disapproved.
I then left the house, at times driving and at times walking, around the streets, looking for my home. I understood that I was in a suburb on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. I found myself moving down a street that ended in a cul-de-sac curved around a park. There were families relaxing, children playing and groups of women talking in the park. I drove down to the end of the street, intending to turn around, but drove straight into the water, a pond that skirted the edges of the street. The women watched as I climbed out of the water, pulling my car after me, and drove away.
Later, I was in a house that Brenda and I were house-minding. The owners were due to come home and so we cleaned the house from top to bottom, taking everything out of each room, thoroughly cleaning the room, and then replacing the furniture, sorting any rubbish as we went. I was trying to make everything fresh and beautiful.
Lastly, I was in the passenger seat of a car and we were driving down a wide, undulating street toward the ocean, rising and dipping with each wave in the road. The waves were echoed by the waves of the ocean that we could see stretched out below us. Everything was vivid blue and sparkling, glittering even: the sky, the ocean, the very air. I felt very happy and free.
dream blog
I have decided to devote this blog entirely to the documentation of dreams. I do not expect anyone to read it regularly in as much as I want to keep a record of dreams to inform my creative practice. I am now going to individually post a couple of dreams I had recently, and then I will attempt to record them regularly, as I dream them.
I may also include pictures from time to time, that are derived from, inspired by, or in some way related to my dreams.
zzzzz
I may also include pictures from time to time, that are derived from, inspired by, or in some way related to my dreams.
zzzzz
Journey dream
I was in a public square or large open space, backed by rocky cliffs and with handsome stone buildings the colour of sand built around the circumference of the space. I walked in with the intention of finding someone I knew—a man. I found him sleeping on the ground and woke him up, urging him to come with me. He was sleepy and disheveled, his blue shirt hanging loose, as were his genitals—he wasn’t wearing any pants. He was black skinned and very tall. He followed me across the dry square, out and across the road to where I was living. A lot of people had gathered on this side of the road where it was lush and green. We looked back as a crumbling roaring sounded—there was an avalanche, huge chunks of rock rolling down the cliffs and into the square, crushing some of the buildings and clouds of dust billowing into the sky. Although we knew that some people would have been killed, everyone said ‘Oh well’, and felt safe. We formed a queue and I was standing with the man and his family at the head of the queue at the backdoor of their house which was also the entrance to an old cinema. A woman who may have been his partner, led the queue in a curve around the backyard so that the people would have to walk around the yard before entering the door. Somehow this would give everyone more space. The queue of people, three or so people thick, wound around the yard, down the side of the house and out along the street. As we were about to enter, I slipped out of the line and walked quietly up the other side of the house, noticing the pale stepping stones under my feet. I walked through the front garden and found a gate among the rose bushes, leading out to the street. I walked west along the street away from the crowd and felt that I would now move on, leave this place and continue my journey. The sky was golden as the sun was setting and there were deep crimson, vivid pink and red roses blooming along the way. I began to think that I should go back and get the rest of my belongings as I had left them in the house. I thought too that I should get my car as this leg of my journey may be quite a long one. Part of me was concerned at leaving the family as we had grown close. I was holding a white plastic bag in my left hand, the top of the bag squeezed into a bunch in my fist, and realised my camera was inside—I felt relief knowing that I had it. As I was considering this, deep brown and caramel horses were cantering past. Suddenly, a girl I knew rode past bareback on one of the horses: she had blond hair, was barefoot and was wearing a white dress covered in pinkish roses which bunched up around her thighs. She called out ‘I love riding naked’, and turned her horse around so that she could come back and talk to me. She dismounted and I told her that I was leaving, in the same direction that she was going, but I felt pulled between staying and going. We considered having a drink over in the remains of the stony square but I felt urgent to leave before the sun had set.
Wednesday 11 April 2007
fish tank dream
Last night I dreamed that I was peering into a large fish tank. The tank was outside, elevated about five foot off the ground, perched atop a wooden structure with a ladder leading up to the tank. Inside, I could see two different types of fish: grey fish with lots of sharp teeth and larger greyish-blue fish with yellow rings around their eyes and blue lips. I read somewhere on the tank that they were Italian fish. I climbed the ladder and lowered my body into the tank, submerging myself entirely, and sat on the bottom of the tank looking out. I was a little nervous of the fish with teeth and hoped they were not dangerous. I felt something on my left shoulder and looked around to see one of the blue & yellow fish resting comfortably there. It seemed to like me and I felt a connection to it. I stayed seated on the bottom of the tank for some time with my legs crossed in front of me and my knees bent, tucked under my chin. I was able to breathe under water, watching the world outside the tank.
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