Wednesday 30 December 2009

queue

I was at an awards ceremony and I was taller and thinner than I am now, with long red hair. I was so pleased with how I looked that I kept glancing at myself in a nearby mirror, admiring my new locks and figure. I was wearing a long silvery-grey dress and dark-rimmed spectacles. I hunted through my handbag to sort my belongings and transfer what I needed to another bag. Whilst I was doing this, the crowded auditorium was suddenly plunged into darkness and a voice came over the loudspeaker advising everyone to pack their things and go to the next point. I was back in my own body. I didn't properly hear our instructions and was immediately in confusion. I knew I needed to gather my belongings, which I did. It seemed to take me a long time. I then followed the thinning crowd through the darkness, filing through the door and into what looked like an underground terminal. The last of us to leave were lined up in queues before a ticket booth, buying tickets to travel somewhere. I was not sure which line to join and felt that time was running out. I felt relieved when I saw a friend of mine walking toward the queue, and then disappointed as she walked past me, too urgent to reach the front of the line. She pushed in right at the front. I didn't feel I could follow her so I joined the end of the queue. As I neared the front, my dear friend B found me and joined me. I felt so grateful for her company; she would know what was happening. At the desk, I bought a ticket. I had to hand over my large bag and was allowed some carry-on luggage. I was worried that I had lost my phone, but B called it and it rang in my bag. It was there after all.
Time rewound. I was sorting out my belongings again, transfering my things from one bag to another, in the darkness of the auditorium. This time, though little changed, I felt less confused. I wanted to make the bags as light as possible so that I could keep my luggage with me, and I needed to wear as many practical clothes as I could, knowing that we were being moved to somewhere like a prison camp. And this time, I checked that I had my phone with me. My bags felt almost empty. I walked through the auditorium and again lined up in the queue, waiting to buy a ticket. When I reached the front of the queue, the woman told me the cost of the ticket. It seemed to be a lot and I wondered how I was to afford this if I had to buy a ticket repeatedly. I looked in my wallet and found that my bank card was missing. I called to B; surely she had it after we used it to buy the tickets last time. I saw her walking into a toilet cubicle, but this time she did not respond other than tell me to wait. I waited, but I lost my place in the queue.

Saturday 19 December 2009

flying down the stairs

I was again on a road that skirted the beach, high up, as though on top of a very tall cliff. An extremely steep and long set of old cement stairs ran all the way from the top to the bottom, perhaps five-hundred stairs or more. I began to run down the stairs as fast as I could and someone beside me ran too, racing me to the bottom. My feet were moving so fast that they became a blur. I was amazed that I could run that fast and not stumble. I wanted to win the race to the bottom and my friend was so fast that I decided to leap into the air and fly down. I jumped and continued to travel down the stairs, hovering above them only a few inches. To show off a little, I lifted my legs up into an almost cross-legged position and placed my hands above my knees, curling my fingers so that the thumb and index fingers touched - the lotus pose. In this position, I flew even faster through the air, descending the stairs at great speed. Nearing the bottom, I stretched out my body so that I dived toward the sand, dipping down and then, at the last moment, ascending again, so that I didn't hit the ground with any force. I floated back down and came to rest on the sand.

fair boy

I was travelling along a road that ran alongside the beach, high up, as though on the edge of a tall cliff. I was with a blonde toddler who was on a skateboard, and I was running to keep up with him. Suddenly he turned off the road, hoisted the skateboard onto his little shoulders, and ran down a flight of stairs. I ran after him, concerned that he would lose his foothold or become unbalanced by the weight of the board and fall. The old cement stairs twisted and turned so that he was just out of view. I passed someone I knew from my teenage years and said hello, but had to keep moving on so that I could follow the boy. As I ran, I approached a landing area somewhere in the middle of the steep flight of stairs and I saw the youngster open the rock lid of a secret chamber in a wall and climb inside, obviously hoping to play a trick on me. I was terribly anxious about his safety, thinking of the creatures that might hide in such a damp and dark space and hoping that he would be able to get out. When I reached the wall, I opened the rock lid and could see his fair head ducked down inside, but the neck of the opening had contracted and he was now too big to climb out - his head was larger than the hole. I ran my hands over the wall, desperate to find another way to pull him out, terrified that he would be entombed. I found an opening further up the wall and could see that there was a small tunnel, only just big enough for him to crawl through.

Thursday 17 December 2009

brothers

I was in the family home that we built, where I lived as a teenager. I was taking care of two children, one only a toddler, the other - his brother - in his early teens. I heard a noise and sensed that something was amiss. I went to where the ghost of my grandmother was standing next to the older boy, looking out the window, and saw the younger boy hanging precariously off an aerial that jutted out from the wall under the window, at right angles to the house. The older boy, upon seeing me, risked his own safety by hanging out the window, balancing his weight on the aerial and pulling his brother back inside. I took the baby from him and cradled him in my arms. The older boy looked sulky and went upstairs into his bedroom. The ghost of my grandmother turned to me and told me that she had seen what happened, that the older boy had pushed the toddler out the window, trying to harm him. She disappeared. I went upstairs, the younger boy now asleep, curled up against my body, and went into the bedroom of his brother. I asked him why he wanted to hurt his brother. He didn't answer for a while and then flatly denied it. I lectured him about it until, finally, he confessed and said he was sorry. I told him he was a good boy. The little one woke up and, seeing his brother, began to cry. He was scared. The older boy leaned over and hugged him, quietening him, however, from my vantage above, I could see by the way that the way he touched his baby brother, the way he looked at him, he was insincere.

Tuesday 15 December 2009

things not as they should be

I was visiting my parents. They lived in a home unfamiliar to me, a one-storey brick house with a level back yard. I was attempting to do my washing, but the washing machine appeared to be full. I investigated further and could see that under the layer of clothing on top of the load were a lot of things that simply should not have been in the washing machine, particularly grass clippings and sticks. I skimmed the clothes off the surface, piling them into a basket, and then fished handfuls of the grass and foliage out of the tub. Once all the grass was removed, I could see more clothes stuffed underneath, floating in muddy, grimy water. I looked around to find some rubber gloves, unwilling to dip my bare hands into the water.
Next, I was in the kitchen with my parents. The window looked directly into the neighbours' kitchen window next door and I could see our prime minister inside, visiting with them. He was happy and laughing, and soon the walls between the two homes melded and he was in our kitchen. He asked me if I could edit an essay for him later this week. I told him that I was booked up with other work and would not be able to fit it in. He said he would reward me handsomely and so I said that I would look into rearranging my schedule. He told me that he would have been an editor in another life and I answered that I imagine we all have other lives we could have lived, that I could have pursued dancing or singing and that I had studied them at university twenty years earlier. We talked for a while and I fell asleep.
Later I woke, opening my eyes very slowly, doing my best to orientate myself. I appeared to be in one of the bedrooms of the family home, although, again, it was unfamiliar to me. The contents of my bag were scattered around the bed, some items littering the sheet around my head. I could not recall what I had done to arrive here and wondered if I had been drunk. I looked under the bed and could see a bottle of perfume that I had obviously brought with me, but I noticed that it was much larger than I recalled it to be. I wondered if I was really awake or if I was still dreaming. As I looked around - at the room, at my belongings, and at my own body - I became increasingly convinced that none of this was real, that I was, in fact, still asleep and that this was part of a dream. I tried to wake up, but still I sat on the bed in a strange bedroom, surrounded by my things.

Saturday 12 December 2009

learning

I swam in the ocean through the night, arriving on the coast of Sydney in the early hours just before dawn. I found my brother on the shore - he was much younger than in waking life, little more than a child. I took his hand and led him through sandstone passages and down rock stairs, taking us on a walk through a reknowned university. He marvelled at the architecture, at the golden stone, and at the early morning light reflected on the walls. Already, the grounds teamed with life. Students walked along the corridors, across green-grassed squares, heading somewhere. My brother wanted to go there, to learn. I pressed my forehead against his and we could feel the vibration of energy, of thought, our skulls buzzing.

family chapel

It was about twenty years ago. Everyone in my dream, including me, was much younger than they are now - twenty years or so younger. I was at my grandparents' house, looking out the front window. I could see the street stretching up the hill, leading up to where my parents lived at the top. An old model dark blue station wagon raced into view, appearing on the crest of the hill and crusing rapidly down, coasting all the way in reverse. I watched it with excitement as it backed into the driveway and parked in the garage under the house. I knew by the daring driving that it must be my uncle. I heard my grandfather go down into the garage to check over the car, and the rest of the family waited for my uncle, aunty and cousins to come upstairs into the house. I checked my hair and lipstick in the mirror, eager to see them. They arrived; my cousins were young children again and I hugged them to me. We went into a room, much like a family chapel, that had a section for sitting and praying, and an alter section. The entire family sat on the ground as the room sloped dangerously down toward the alter. The wall behind the alter was painted a dark red. I was nursing twin cousins (who don't exist in waking life), admiring their pumpkin-coloured curls, whilst doing my best to control my growing anxiety about the sloping floor, fearing that I would slide down and disappear.