ancestors and path

I was sitting in a hall filled with people who were seated in rows before a raised platform serving as a stage. From my seat against the back wall, I could see everyone in the space. There was some kind of extreme church service underway. A preacher was whipping the crowd into a frenzy and people were responding by loosing control, calling out and fainting. Arms were lifted to the heavens and there was much singing. I did my best not to stand out but I felt uncomfortable; I joined the singing very quietly but that was all. Even singing, my own voice sounded loud and close, as though I had my hands over my ears. I wanted to leave the space as I did not feel that it was genuine or real.
Next, I was in a room with old friends. I seemed to be staying at their house. I could see photographs of my family decorating the walls. I wondered why they were there. I picked up one photograph and pointed out my mother and my father at a younger age. I also pointed out myself, but then, as I looked closely, I realised it wasn't me but an aunt on my mother's side. I didn't correct myself but wondered that I seemed to look so similar to her in the photo.
Next, I was in a large room with a group of elderly women. Some of them were women I knew when I was a child, church friends of my grandmother; others were ancestors - great grandmothers, great aunts and women who had lived and died perhaps a hundred or so years ago. We were standing and seated around a large wooden table that occupied most of the room, preparing for a formal meal together. My sister was there also. One of the women said to me that what I was wearing was alright for now, but that I would have to change into something more suitable for a 'relative dinner'. I was alarmed as I was sure that I had not packed anything more formal than what I was wearing. I felt that there would be no pleasing anyone and that I would rather leave than try. I also felt that I would be judged for my life and life choices. I spoke briefly with my sister and we planned to leave soon. She went to fetch her backpack so that we could continue trekking. Before I left, I sat at the table for an announcement: a woman was about to arrive who had been a martyr in her time. Apparently she lived at least a hundred years ago and that she had been crucified; they compared her suffering to that of Jesus Christ. She arrived, a hunched, frail ancient woman wearing a moss green dress. Rather than sitting at the table, she slipped underneath it, crawled across the floor to where I was sitting and started biting my arm which was protected somewhat by my long, thick sleeves. I lay on the floor next to her and gently took my arm away, wondering why she was biting me. I didn't want to hurt her and thought she might have a message, some piece of wisdom for me. As I looked at her, I noticed how fresh and young her skin was and how bright her eyes, and I told her so. She told me that her name was Fun. I helped her to her feet and supported her back, walking her out of the room and toward another table - a stall at a fete, surrounded by women. As we walked, she turned into a small doll that I held in my hand and waved at the women. They all wanted her as she made them laugh and started calling out her name: Fun.
Next, I was on the grounds of an institution where I had built something special although I am not sure what it was or if it was tangible. I was prevented from entering the space where I could find out by a high wire fence. I thought of scaling the fence but I could see three strands of barbed wire lining the top and I suspected that it might be an electric fence. Sure enough, I watched as one person tried to climb it and received an electric shock at the top. On the other side of the fence, I could see a large game of football or soccer going on. The ball was kicked over the fence and I caught it for a moment with my legs before it rolled down the hill. A young woman followed the ball; I watched her unusual method of climbing over the fence by climbing up and sitting on the wire fence to weigh it down, slipping backwards under the lowest of the three wires, and backflipping off the fence. She fetched the ball and repeated the move, back into the fenced area. I copied her actions and found myself inside the fence. Standing watching me was a tiny boy, about two years old, and I knew he was my child. I hugged and kissed him, told him I loved him, and then let him go. I knew that he would not remember this and that he thought he had no mother.

sand wall and crocodile

I was with a group of people, a passenger in a car, driving somewhere up north. We stopped near a beach and all piled out of the car. It was very hot and the air was salty. I stripped off down to my underpants and walked toward the ocean. There was a small sand wall in my way and I tried to scale it. It was just taller than me. Another of our party ran and jumped at the wall, climbing over it with little difficulty. I had more trouble, the sand crumbling under my hands as I gripped the top, bringing me back to the ground several times. I was aware of someone watching me, behind me, and I wished I was wearing something more flattering than the dark blue pants. Finally, I made it over the sand wall. I walked down the shore toward the pale green sea. On this side of the wall, it was even hotter, the air briny and blowing sand about, stinging my skin. I saw the person who climbed the wall, already swimming out of the sea, preparing to go back to the car. He called out a warning about the salt water crocodiles that frequented the area. I cautiously waded in, relieved by the cool water, but immediately felt a bite. A small crocodile snapped at me. He was under a metre long but quite vicious. I grabbed him by the snout and the tail and threw him back into the water as far as I could throw. I tried to walk back up the shore, abandoning my thoughts of a swim, but the crocodile scampered out of the water toward me, snapping at my heels. A second time, I threw him back into the water and tried to leave. Yet again, the crocodile raced back at me. I had time to consider that I would be more frightened if it were a snake because it may be poisonous, and remembered that I had had a similar dream many times before. Now, I thought, it was time to throw the crocodile back into the ocean in real life. Again, I threw him into the sea and this time I made it back over the sand wall to where the others were waiting by the car.

running water

I was showering, enjoying the rush of water over my body. Someone came into the shower and, although not bothering me overly, I hopped out as it felt a little crowded. The person clung to me, trying to prevent me from leaving. I pried their arms from around my waist and then, still naked, saw a friend of mine who I hold dear. We embraced.
Next, I remember sitting at a table with a couple who had travelled to Australia from a European country, a man and a woman. We ate in companionable silence, only talking now and again. The man went walking in the rain and when he returned, he had turned into a very fluffy orange kitten. His hair was damp and stuck in clumps around his torso, and he was frisky from his adventure. I too decided to go walking in the rain.

witch

I was walking up Dornoch Terrace with a companion who was at times, my brother, at other times, a female friend. Rather than walking directly up the road, we steered off the footpath at every house, venturing into the gardens and, at times, the homes. We seemed to be simply looking around. In one front garden, I noticed that the flowers, mainly crimson and purple, were partially shrouded by black cloth. I wondered if it was a method of protecting the young plants from the hot sun and that they might be uncovered at the cooler times of day. As we stepped out of this garden, an old woman came out of the house and watched us. I sensed that she was a witch, just like the kind in children's stories. We wandered into the next garden and I could see her watching us from behind the wall that separated the two gardens; her garden was higher so that she could see over the wall and down into the next door neighbour's garden. Suddenly, we were in the house and she was inside with us, masquerading as the owner. I noticed that she was wearing a cream blouse, brown skirt, brown socks and slippers. Her face was very lined and quite hard, and she had bright brown eyes. Without asking us, she presented us with tea, steaming in brown mugs. I tried to tell her that I didn't want any but she motioned to me as though she didn't understand. I started to climb the steep staircase that had appeared, leading out of the dark room and into the light above, quietly urging my friend to come. I mouthed to her that I was scared and that we should go. She had some tea and then followed me up the stairs. I was concerned that she had accepted the tea. As we were walking back through the garden toward the street, a young woman fell into step beside us. She was very attractive in a boyish way and I could see that my friend liked her. I turned to face the young woman and said that I knew that she was really the witch, that she had taken someone else's identity, was pretending to be someone she wasn't, and then I blew on her face. She instantly turned back into the witch. I suggested that she go back home and have a nice night in rather than following us about. She agreed and looked happy for a moment, and said that it was four hundred years today since she had been practising as a witch and she might go home and celebrate. I knew then that she was indeed the witch from such tales as Hansel and Gretle. My friend turned back into my brother and we walked hand in hand up the road, still feeling a little frightened. Some young people spilled out of a home onto the footpath, taking photographs of each other. One girl, the primary subject of most of the photos, posed, contorting her long, angular body to a growing rhythm. It was truly nightmarish. The phone beside my bed made a beeping sound which woke me up.

abstract

I was in the church hall of the suburb I grew up in, at the church that I attended when I was young. I was painting a large abstract painting on a canvas that was leaning against an easel, sitting with my back to the far wall of the hall so that I could see the whole room, particularly the glass entry doors and the adjoining kitchen. Initially, all my focus was on a tiny patch of the painting, carefully mixing a yellow paint on a palette on my lap and then brushing it onto the canvas. I observed the paint on the palette closely as I mixed it, ensuring the dark blue blob of oil paint that appeared was thoroughly blended into the yellow. Suddenly my focus widened to take in the whole painting. I was surprised at what I had created as it was very unlike my usual style, but I could see that it was going to be a great work. B called out and said she was popping next door to buy a bottle of wine. I became aware that there were a couple of our friends there also. Just as B returned with the wine, I looked up and saw the clock - it was ten to eight in the morning and I realised that I had to be at the printers at eight. I rushed, disappointed that I could not stay and enjoy the friendship, the painting and the wine. I threw off my clothes, which were splashed with brightly coloured paint, and hurriedly put on clothes suitable for a meeting, asked the others to save me a glass of wine, and ran out the door. I remembered that I had parked my car on a side street, so I crossed the road and walked toward the car. Two young people, a teenage boy and girl, sidled up beside me, uncomfortably close. I knew that they were attempting to steal my handbag. I walked fast, trying to escape them, and felt that they had chosen the wrong person if they were after a wad of cash. I woke.

contrasts: ship

I crossed the grounds of an institution, perhaps a school. As I walked down the wide cement path, I passed a man who I have not seen in many years. He was very slender, wearing old clothes in brown and green and had the same feminine attributes as I remember him to possess in waking life. I lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed his fingers lightly in greeting. He smiled at me and said that I was funny, that one moment I could be very reserved and quiet, and the next I could be outgoing and warm. He said something about sliding up and down the scales. He walked with me in the direction I was going and, before I left him to enter a building, we sat down in the shade on the cement to talk for a moment longer. He rolled around on the ground and I was surprised as I knew that this institution frowned upon such things, indeed, it was even daring of us to be sitting.
Time elapsed. I was standing inside a huge ship, looking out the window. We were far, far out at sea. The waves around us were tremendously high. Outside was a large salt water swimming pool; the water was let in from the ocean. There were scores of men swimming in the pool and playing a violent game much like volleyball. The men were the biggest, most brutal looking men I have ever seen. There was a small section of the pool partially divided from the main pool by a wall, a narrow opening in the wall allowing water and people to go pass through. I was watching the pool, waiting for my turn to swim. I was nervous as I was wearing a two-piece swimming costume and felt a great contrast between my feminine body and the brawny bodies of the men, and I felt exposed. Finally I stepped outside into the salty air. I climbed down the tall white, metal ladder from the deck down into the pool area and could feel the icy cold air rising from the deep ocean water. I could see my pale feet as I crossed over to the partially protected section of the pool and noticed that I had red painted toenails. I lowered myself into the water, the cold sucking my stomach in, and found that I quite enjoyed the temperature. I swam under the water and experienced the engulfing silence, a contrast to the loud shouts and bellows of the men pounding the water and each other above. When I surfaced, the ship was being tipped by an enormous wave. The ship slowly rolled to one side, almost to the point of no return, and I, heart beating wildly, thought I was going to die. I could see the wave towering above us, threatening to turn the ship or crash over it, but then it passed under and the ship righted itself. It happened a second time, just as terrifying as the first. The sheer size and power of the wave took my breath away. I then found that I had been washed through the opening in the wall and I was in the dangerous waters of the main pool. Mammoth, beast-like men battled nearby and I urgently swam back through the opening in the wall and into the safe small section. I ducked my head under the water one more time and climbed back out of the pool and up the steep ladder to the safety of the upper deck. I was struck by the overwhelming size of everything, the ship, the waves and the men.

skipping, singing, flying

I was in Newcastle, staying with my family, in both of the houses that we lived in when I was growing up. I decided to step out for a walk, heading down the road, past my grandparents' home, past the neighbours' houses, down onto Parkway Avenue. Rather than walking, I skipped, and instead of a standard skip I tapped each foot twice when placing it in front - a very rhythmic skip. I noticed how the homes had changed in the twenty years since I lived there: houses had extensions, new paint jobs, makeovers and new owners. As I skipped, I started to sing "Hopelessly Devoted to You", but instead of singing it in the style for which it is famous, I sang a very quirky version complete with a marching beat on a snare drum which sounded out of nowhere. I continued along the street until I reached a lane which I ventured up, having to climb steep rocks toward the end. I stepped out of my body for a moment and watched as I tried to climb. I saw myself become a man with a moustache, heard him claim that the rock was too steep to scale, and watched as he took hold of a bar with both hands and was hoisted away. I returned to my body and found that I too could take hold of a bar that lifted me out of the rocky lane, high into the sky. I soared through the air, still singing to the fabulous marching beat, gliding above the suburbs of Newcastle. Whilst flying and singing, I decided upon an eclectic song list that I would rehearse and perform once I landed in the right spot.

racing and cat

I was rushing to get somewhere and with me, guiding me, was a fluffy ginger cat. I raced through an underground depot of sorts, navigating my way through turnstiles, tunnels and crowds of people, the cat always in front of me. I turned into a section where the traffic was thick and fast. I was alarmed to see an enormous black train off the rails, driving up the road toward me, threatening to mow me down. I rushed forward, away from the train, and a second train, as big as the first, sped around the corner, the convoy of carriages behind it swinging out as it curled around the bend. The cat and I ran past it and climbed up a steep flight of cement stairs until I reached a ticket counter. I bought a ticket and asked the attendant which station I should go to; he said number 28. We ran up another flight of stairs to a hallway where the doors leading to each station were numbered. There were about 40 stations and there seemed to be no pattern at all as to how the numbers had been allocated; 4 sat next to 39, 2 next to 13 and so on. I frantically searched for the right number and realised that the cat was waiting for me in the doorway of number 28. I ran after the cat down some stairs onto the platform and there was our train, pulling away from the station. The cat sprang on board and I ran beside the train, grabbed hold of a metal bar and hoisted myself through the doors, into the carriage. Once there, I asked a couple of people where this train was going to check that it was indeed the right one. I looked up to see the lovely fluffy cat lying down on the floor at the front of the carriage near the driver's seat. He was totally relaxed, stretched out, watching me.

snakes

I was in the bedroom of my teenage years. Someone else was sleeping in my single bed though I was not concerned, rather I felt nurturing and protective of the person who needed to sleep. I saw something under the bed and reached under to find a small black and white snake coiled there, waiting to slither out when the light was turned off. I held the snake fast, one hand tight around its neck just below the head to prevent it from biting me, and the other around the base of its tail to stop it from curling around my wrist or writhing out of my control. I had a dilemma as the window was shut and there was nowhere to throw the snake and I didn't want to kill it, but at the same time I needed to keep the person in my bed from harm. I tried throwing the snake across the room, hoping that it would leave us in peace, but it slithered back under the bed waiting to attack in the dark. I grabbed it a second and third time, repeating the process, but it came back more aggressively each time. Finally, my father walked into the room and threw the snake down with such force that he knocked its head off its body. Relieved, though disturbed that we had killed it, I said goodnight to the person in my bed but just before I turned off the light, I noticed another snake coiled under the cover of the bed, hidden by the bedspread. I braced myself and reached under the bed to grab the snake. This one was a luminous green, much larger and doubly aggressive. I held this snake in the same way, around the tail and below the head. I had to keep adjusting my grip as the snake was very strong and kept managing to wriggle through my hands. It thrashed about, red gash of a mouth open and teeth bared, angry that it was captive. I did not dare to throw this snake, knowing that it was far too dangerous, but waited for my father to return to help me kill it. This time I knew that there was no room for mercy, it was time to take action to protect the person who was in the bed who I then understood was my sister.

letting go and ocean

I was in Newcastle on Hunter Street, riding up toward the beach on a bicycle, just on night fall. There was no other traffic about and I felt free to ride either on the road or the footpath. I realised that I was not wearing a helmet just as I noticed the police station on the opposite side of the street so I hopped off and pushed the bike along the path until I was well past the station and then continued riding up the street. At the end, the street formed a cul-de-sac atop a cliff, perched high above the rocks and waves below, and was enclosed by a rickety old white wooden fence. I left the bike and went to lean over the fence next to my brother who was waiting for me there. We stood alongside a woman who I didn't know; she was also leaning over the fence, looking down into the ocean. We were in semi-darkness and somehow we moved out from behind the fence to the rocks at the top of the cliff beyond. I became aware of how slippery the ground was, how dangerously sloping. I went down on all fours to better grip the rock and urged my brother away from the edge. He laughed at my caution, knowing that we were safe. I could feel barnacles and shells stuck fast to the rocky cliff face as I crawled back behind the fence. Suddenly the fence gave way and the woman plunged down into the sea. I was concerned and leaned over the edge to see if I could see her; there she was, floating happily in the water below. My brother and I decided to swim so we let ourselves fall off the edge of the cliff, dropping into the dark ocean. The water was deep and cool. I felt wonderfully buoyant and had a sense of the immensity of the ocean. We played in the water, diving under the slow moving waves as night fell, safe in the shadow of the cliff.