mistrust

I was with two people - one, a close friend, the other, a woman I have recently befriended. The woman led us into her nursery, a kind of greenhouse full of shade plants, cool and inviting. I felt, however, cautious and stayed by the door, on guard and ready to retreat. The woman moved a few pots and pointed out her hothouse flowers. Long tendrils curled out and gripped the stems of other plants; the air was damp and sweet. I looked about anxiously, fearing snakes were hiding amidst the green. And then I saw one: a pale grey snake with large chocolate eyes - quite beautiful, really - lying quietly on a table between the plants. The woman saw it and, instead of removing it calmly or leaving it be, grabbed it by the neck, held its face to hers and started hissing at it. Initially placid, the snake became increasingly agitated until it opened its jaws wide and hissed back at the woman, furious. I didn't go, but watched horrified, realising I did not trust this woman.

psychic energy

An argument. A woman stood perhaps fifty feet away, near an old grey wooden fence. She yelled at me and I felt incensed; I felt righteous and justified. Instead of words, I hurled my intention at her and, instantly, a ceramic plate that had been leaning against the fence smashed into pieces. She was alarmed and continued to rant, and I was surprised at the power of energy. Pleased, I again directed my anger into thought and sent it her way, another plate cracking down the middle, pieces falling to the ground.

passing through danger

I was driving a sturdy white van down a steep mountain. The winding road narrowed as I traced the cliff's edge, until the road became a snaking path, barely wide enough to allow passage. The path twisted and kinked around sharp rocks and the traffic slowed to walking pace; some cars turned back. Two people appeared - a man and a woman - at the most perilous point, carefully directing people around a hairpin bend. I drove tentatively onward, listening to the instructions and following them carefully. As I passed the man, I looked in his eyes and thanked him. Again, as I passed the woman, I made eye contact and thanked her. In both their eyes, I saw light reflected and something more - spirit, energy, soul.

shark

I was walking on the shore of a shallow sea and my brother was swimming, not too far out. I saw a fin curve through the blue, and then another. I called out, hopeful he could hear me; hopeful they were dolphin. He swam back toward the shore as more and more black fins appeared. I saw they were sharks and one rushed at him as he climbed out of the water and stepped onto the shore. I screamed and he turned in time to wrestle it, casting it back into the sea. He was alright, but his hands and arms were cut from the sharp teeth of the shark.

bus crash

I was in a bus, sitting in the middle of the back seat at the end of the aisle. There were only about six people on board, sitting alone in various seats. A young man of about eighteen also sat on the back seat, on my right, looking out the window. The bus driver steered the bus around golden cliffs - the road curving and precarious - and, as we entered a canyon, the driver sped up, driving too fast and too recklessly. We drove off the road and across the rocks, the bus bouncing and out of control. We hit a rock and the bus spun around, now airborne and sailing down a cavern, tail first. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. The bus was certain to crash and, being in the back, we would receive maximum impact. I looked out the back window and saw the rocks, closer and closer. I said and prayer and thought of my family. The boy turned from the window and looked at me, his blue eyes frightened. I had time to take his hand.

rising up

Two dreams:
I was rising in the air, flying or floating upward, away from the Earth, towards the stars and planets. I experienced a knowledge that I was about to disperse, the atoms of my body and the energy that makes up me were about to scatter and converge with the energy of the universe. Still rising, and regretfully, I remembered the many things I had to complete, the things I had to do, and so I turned and headed back to Earth.
I was in the back yard, clearing green rubbish, banana leaves and such things, with the help of a couple of  others. It crossed my mind there may be a snake hidden in the waste pile, but we continued gathering armfuls of debris. One of my friends walked quickly to the bottom of the yard and threw something long over the fence - a brown snake. I was amazed at her calm. Another snake, a giant python, came out of the pile and weaved its way across the yard. My friends retreated and I, instead, floated upward, above the scene. I was aware of the concentration required to remain in the air, knowing that if I ceased to believe, I would fall down into the yard with the snakes.

music in the rain

I was in the suburb of my childhood, staying in the house of a friend. The garden sloped away from the house, merging with a park. In the early morning I went outside in the rain to brush my teeth at the tap. The man next door was in his garden, eyes closed, playing a violin. I leaned into a shrub, hoping to remain unseen, so as to listen. I could only just hear the beautiful music over the rain and I realised this was why he was out here: playing his violin, the sound masked by rainfall, so as not to disturb his wife or the neighbours. I felt both joy and sadness, witnessing an old man delight in his passion, but having to be so discreet.

theatre and grandmother

I entered a theatre and found a seat towards the back. The worn russet leather chairs had wooden arms and fold-down seats, like those in old cinemas. The theatre appeared to have capacity for three hundred or so people and it was near full. We excitedly waited for the show to begin. I was there alone. The curtain was raised and three women appeared on stage, singing an electric, almost eccentric, song with great mastery. My dear friend was one of the performers and, I realised, I had come this night to watch her perform. While they sang, the audience began to leave. At first, I was appalled, but it became apparent that the audience had already seen the matinee performance, that they were lingering in the theatre and the night-time show had started too early. The curtain was lowered and the show stopped. Soon the theatre was almost cleared. I took the opportunity to search for a better seat, closer to the front, so that I would have a clear view of my friend. A new audience began to fill theatre and, among them, my grandmother sat down next to me. I was overjoyed and yet perplexed, as I have not seen her since her death some years ago. I felt somewhat neglectful, as though I had forgotten her and not visited her for years. She was wearing a mustard jumper and had a few bags about her. Together, we waited for the show to begin again. It started and, while my eyes were on my friend on stage, my grandmother disappeared. I turned around to glance at her, but she'd gone. Worried, I crept out of the theatre, sorry to miss the performance, to find her. She was in the foyer, sorting through her bags, preparing to go home. All kinds of personal items were strewn across a table. I helped her sort out her washing, including two blue towels, and repack her other bags. I noticed that the contents of her handbag were lying on another table nearby, and I took particular note of the bright red lipstick in a gold case - Chanel No 13.

lost friend

I was dressing for a night out, but I was tired and late. I sat  - half-dressed - and hurriedly ate a meal, knowing I would be even later. My friend rang to find out where I was; I could somehow see her waiting, standing on a hill, dressed in dark red, the wind blowing her hair. We arranged to meet here instead and, even so, I knew I hadn't enough time. Sure enough, she arrived at the front door well before I was ready - a glamorous figure. We hugged and she looked into my face; she could see that I was tired. I finished dressing, though not well; my clothes were ill-fitting and drab. I had no time to shower or groom, and we left. Arriving at a large concert hall, we were ushered to our seats toward the front of the theatre. Once seated, the usher returned and pointed out a better vantage - seats up toward the back. My friend followed the usher to inspect the seats, while I minded our spot. I lost sight of my friend int he crowd and, knowing the show was soon to start, I went to find her. I couldn't see her anywhere but heard that she was in the foyer, talking with friends. I thought it best to sit down as the curtains were opening. I shuffled through the legs of the seated audience until I reached the two vacant seats, still distracted by the absence of my friend. I was not at all comfortable; in fact, the seat had now elevated so that I was blocking the view of the person behind. I tried to lower it, disrupting the people around me. A couple of people moved and I was somewhat embarrassed. The show began and it was awful: bad acting, dreadful singing and of terrible taste. Someone came to tell me that there had been an accident in the foyer, so - relieved that I could abandon the show - I raced out, thinking my friend had fallen or some such thing.
There had been an accident at sea. I peered out to the horizon and could see ships bottom up and sinking. Ships nose-down, black in a grey ocean. The water had risen and my friend was swept away. She and the others in the foyer were now dragged by a swift current south. About seven people were struggling to stay afloat, powerless against the pull as they rushed through the water, desperately grabbing at anything to aide their plight. I ran along the shore, following them, my friend ever in view. I shouted to her, words of encouragement to buoy her. I followed for miles, running apace, keeping track of her. I thought she was lost.

clumsy and floating

At the back door, trying to get in. Locked. I walk around to the sliding glass door; also locked. Back to the back door. If I simply push it ... Yes. I didn't realise that it was this easy to get in. I'll have to look at fixing that. Walk through the back room, which is filled with all kinds of bric-a-brac - vases, books, bowls, sculptures, kitchen utensils and more. I bump a metal bowl filled with flour. It spills onto the floor and I crouch, scooping the flour back into the bowl. There's blue fluff in it. I pick out the fluff, cleaning the flour so as not to waste it. Walk into the central room of the house; the living room. My mother is there. I knock something else and it falls to the ground. I right it and wonder why I am so clumsy today. In fact, I am feeling strange. I tell my mother and sit down in a wooden chair. I feel light headed, giddy, as though I am no longer contained within my body. I levitate - still sitting on the chair - and float around the room. My mother is surprised and looks at me with wonder. As I float over a high cupboard, I see some plants, which are in pots sitting on the cupboard, on fire. Smoke drifts across the room. The leaves are too close to the ceiling and I rearrange them, extinguishing the flames.

my brother sings

I was in a room with many other people - perhaps a library, perhaps a church. I could see my brother standing with two other men around his age and an older man who was a musician and producer of some note. The older man held some kind of recording device and played a few chords of music, asking the younger men to sing. First one man sang, his voice gentle and high, the melody dancing around the chords, then the second man joined him, his voice similarly sweet and high. Then, as directed, the two men stopped and my brother began to sing, his voice deeper and sadder. From his body, as he sang, came a palpable vibration that resonated throughout the room. People who had been talking ceased talking and sat in silence. A few of us - my mother, sister and father - drew close to my brother, placing our hands gently on his back, feeling the vibration and supporting him. The older man recorded his voice, the vibration, and knew he had found something unique.

moving through air

I was one of four performers playing to a large crowd of people in a vast auditorium. The audience was arranged around the stage, looking down on us - some sitting, some standing. The performers were paired. My partner gripped my hands and spun me around in a circle so that I was flying through the air, almost vertically. I could see the other pair similarly moving, one partner anchored to the ground, spinning the other partner around and around, and, as she flew through the air, she stretched, arched and moved her body, creating a beautiful aerial dance. The other performers were all wearing blue leotards with sequins, appropriately dressed for the show. It seemed I was unprepared and unrehearsed for, as I spun around, I realised that I was wearing a flannelette shirt, grey tracksuit pants and ugg boots and I did not know the choreography. Suddenly, the other pair left the stage, leaving us alone. All eyes were upon us and I needed to do something worthy of watching. I began to move my legs and arch my back, feeling muscles that have long been unused, remembering steps from early dancing days. Though I felt stiff, ill-attired and put on the spot, I danced through the air and, as I spun, my body felt fluid, grew lithe, moved effortlessly.

gatecrashers

We were in the back yard of the home where one of my closest friends lived when she was a child. It was night and everything seemed chaotic, dangerous. Too many people milled around - in the yard, throughout the house - as though the party had been gatecrashed. We were tense, sensing violence, and decided to leave. Five of us piled into my small car, which was parked in the front yard, with B behind the wheel and me in the passenger seat. As we turned to pull out of the driveway, a huge 4WD ute with headlights on high beam pulled in, engine revving, looming over us, forcing us to reverse. Young angry men were in the ute, yelling, and loud, aggressive music roared out the windows, base thudding. The ute spun around, tyres spinning, ripping up grass and spraying mud everywhere, circling around us. B was infuriated and, instead of driving away, turned our car to face them. I screamed at her to go and, as I did, the men in the ute fired guns, shooting at us, at the house, at everything in sight. B swung the car around, the rest of us ducked and covered our heads, and we pulled out of the driveway, speeding up the road through the suburban streets. We were unhurt.

dog crossing road

A small dog, much like the lovely, scruffy dog my grandparents had when I was a child, bolted out my front door, up the driveway and across the road. I was worried; the road is busy and the dog was excitable. She snuffled about in the bush on the other side of the road before returning. And, amazingly, she seemed to possess road sense, even though I knew her to be unfamiliar with the wider world. Before crossing, she quickly scanned the road in both directions for coming cars, and raced back to me, joyful.

keep moving

In a pool. My blankets, sheets and quilt are heaped on the cement at the side of the pool. As I swim, I see the quilt slip off the pile and into the water. There is nothing to be done so I continue swimming.

I am angry with someone I care about. Rather than say anything, I lie belly down on a board, much like a surfboard without any fins, and slide down the hill, following the path. I race down at breakneck speed, shoot past trees and driveways, steer my board by leaning left or right until I swerve around a sharp bend and reach the busy road. Then I climb the hill toward the house, board under my arm, calm.

venomous snake

Snakes. The grounds around the house were infested. Snakes different shades of brown and gold, snakes of varying sizes. Snakes under the cover of scrub and grass, silently gliding. Snakes across the path. I was careful not to disturb them, to step on them, but the light was low and they were camouflaged. The gold snakes were not as frightening, seemed not to be aggressive. But the brown snakes ... I stepped too close to a mottled brown snake. It reared up, darted forward, lashed out, attacked. I grabbed it around the throat and held it away from me. It struggled to wriggle out of my fist and its skin rippled forward so that its head began to disappear into its neck, pulling backward. I had to tighten my grip, prevent it from escaping. Its tail thrashed about and I pulled its skin back so that its head remained above my hand. Furious, the snake opened its mouth, baring its teeth; not two fangs, but about six or eight long sharp teeth that protruded from its jaws, fanned out. I held the snake as far from me as possible, knowing that the snake was desperate to strike. Venom sprayed out of the snakes teeth, fountained into the air, spraying the surrounds and my throat. As soon as the snake had exhausted its supply of poison, I mustered my strength and threw it as far away as I could. I saw it land on the bush floor and I turned and ran.

unclean house

I had returned home after some time away, but home was no longer the place I recognised. I lived in a large house with many, many rooms housing people with whom I have worked over the years. In fact, as the dream progressed, the house became increasingly like a place of work, even though it was furnished with the usual items one would find in a home. I was in the bathroom, doing my best to shower and dress, but the room had been left in a mess. Damp towels hung on the rails, the bath was filled with dirty water, the toilet was not flushed and sported drips on the seat, the shower needed a scrub, and various personal items had been discarded on the floor. For some reason, I needed to hurry - a job to do? - but I determined to return to clean the house from top to bottom. While I readied myself, I flung the soiled towels into a heap on the tiled floor and opened the bathroom door, so at least I could create a washing pile and air the room. Two women with whom I have worked closely were walking about in the hall, also preparing to go somewhere to work. I told them that I intended to clean out the rooms, that I like a clean house. They obviously agreed and yet they had neglected to keep the house in order.

feathers

My father had soft yellow feathers on the soles of his feet. Not stuck to his feet but growing out of his skin, sprouting like the plumage of a luxuriously fluffy bird.

nightmare

Night. The home of my youth. My family, gone. Stay very still. Hold my breath. Something unfolding. A woman and three men do something wrong, something unspeakable. They don't know I'm there. From another room, I spy them. They gather, look down at something out of my view. Pin something down. A squeal, blood and a satisfied smile on the woman's face. Something killed - an animal? I run. Into the dark, bare feet on the drive, loud steps follow. Search for my car. Gone. I'm not fast on foot. No choice but to hide. Run down a sharp-stoned lane into shadow. Scale a fence and creep under a neighbour's house, bury myself behind the foundations, disappear into the dark.

octopus arms

We were in my grandparents' home, down the road from where I lived when I was a child. I was in the third bedroom, the spare room with a double bed. My friend called me and I found her in the first bedroom where I slept over many a night when I was young, in a single bed alongside the window. The bed was gone and a big silver refrigerator stood where the cupboard had been. The fridge door was ajar and my friend was looking inside and to the floor in horror. 'Look', she said. There were two long octopus arms, one on the top shelf of the fridge door and the other on the floor, writhing and wriggling as though they were alive. The arm on the shelf was obviously trying to get inside a jar that held something soaking in a milky liquid and the arm on the floor was travelling across the carpet, back toward the fridge. We stared, fixated on the macabre spectacle, not sure what to do. What was it inside the jar that so compelled the suckered arms? Suddenly my friend was angry and said something I didn't understand. Her sentence made no sense and the words seemed mixed up. She stormed out of the room and phoned someone, seemingly to do something about the wandering arms. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed an axe, thinking that my friend was upset because I had not acted quickly enough. I hurried back to the first bedroom and my friend had already returned there, also wielding an axe. She swung her axe through the air, chopping the arm on the floor in half. I tried to knock the other arm off the refrigerator-door shelf onto the floor, but in so doing, I knocked over a container of food, which spilled all over the carpet. Now the second octopus arm was squirming about in a mess of lentils. I painstakingly scraped everything up off the floor, depositing it onto some newspaper, which I disposed of. The person my friend had called had arrived and now they were leaving together. I was upset as my friend was still angry with me and I was not sure why. She had spoken to me a few more times but, frustratingly, I could not understand her words. Sitting on the floor in the first bedroom, I called out to her, desperate for her to come back so that we could work it out. Instead, her friend came into the room and, with her face very close to mine, so close I observed her mascara, said it was sad that I would be sitting at home crying, working all day on my birthday while my friend was out. I was shocked to realise that it was my birthday and even sadder to think I would spend it alone, working.

I woke from this dream with the sadness in my body. Rather than beginning the day this way, I chose to close my eyes and return to the scene of the dream. Although I didn't fall asleep, I imagined the dream playing out a different way; I imagined a happier dream. At the point where we were standing, watching the octopus arms wriggle towards the jar, I asked my friend what was in the jar. She told me it was the rest of the octopus, soaking in milk to soften it for cooking. We decided that, seeing as the octopus body parts seemed to be alive, we would return them to the ocean and, because it was my birthday, we would take the day off, swim and enjoy the day and each other's company. We collected the arms and the jar and took the car that was garaged underneath the house, driving through the suburbs to the sea. Once there, we emptied the contents of the jar and the two arms into the waves, leaving them to reunite, and we frolicked on the shore. I felt much happier after re-imagining my dream.

facing fear

I was living in an old building with others. We seemed to be squatting for the rooms were derelict and unfurnished, with no secure windows or doors. A group of young boys sat in the entrance room against the wall. They were always there, and I did not trust them. They heckled people as they came and went, harrying them at times. I kept my distance. Although I seemed to own very little, I still had my handbag where I  safeguarded anything of value, including a substantial sum of money - perhaps my means out of there. One night I noticed my handbag missing and looked immediately to the boys. Sure enough, they had it; I could see them huddled in the doorway, rifling through the contents. I called to my friend, telling her the boys had my bag. But, though I feared them, it was up to me to retrieve it. I walked into the cold cement room and faced the gang of boys who were sitting in a line against the wall. Demanding they return my bag, I threatened them, yelling at them, saying I would get them if they didn't, I would hurt them. As soon as I had spoken, I felt great remorse. I looked at them, ashamed, and told them I was sorry, that I would not hurt them. Instead of threatening them, I spoke my simple truth: my bag is important to me and I want it back. To my surprise, they handed it to me and, upon checking, nothing was astray. Still, one of the boys jeered at me. He stood up and moved obtrusively into my personal space. Again, instead of reacting in fear, I looked at him, I really saw him. I asked his name. He looked up, into my eyes for the first time and told me. And, realising we had never before truly acknowledged each other as people, rather we had regarded one another with animosity because of our fear, I told him my name. Something shifted. The fear was gone - mine and the boy's. We had become allies, friends and, although unspoken, I knew we would look out for one another, protect one another from this day on.

robbery

I heard a noise and woke, knowing that someone was in the house. I crept up the stairs and saw two young, fair boys - brothers, about 14 and 10 - in the midst of a robbery. They did not seem in the least surprised to see me, nor concerned; they continued taking my things. I noticed that my computer was missing and, worse, so was the external hard drive on which I back up all of my work and creative projects. I asked them to return it as it was very important to me. They ignored me and went about stealing. Knowing I would have to do something drastic to get through to them, I grabbed the younger boy around the throat and squeezed; not tightly enough to choke or strangle him, but enough that he was distressed, which frightened his brother. Again, I asked them to return my external hard drive. The older boy ran out of the house to retrieve it and, while he was outside, still holding the younger boy firmly by the throat, I called the police. The line was bad and the police seemed not to have a sense of urgency; nonetheless, I told them I was being burgled and where to find the house. The older child returned with the hard drive and I let go of his brother. I could hear voices outside and ventured out into the dark where a gang of youths were waiting. Although they were all involved in the crime, none seemed particularly dangerous. Rather, they seemed to be stealing for thrills, sending the young ones in to collect what goods they might. There were too many of them to counter, so, instead, I acted casually while observing as much as I could, studying the details of their appearances and their vehicles. One young man, barely out of his teens, a big and burly boy with dark, curling hair, cigarette in hand, spoke with me while he waited for the group to reassemble, to leave. I gathered that this was something they'd starting doing regularly to relieve the boredom. He bragged a little, and so doing let slip that they'd robbed someone called Janine twice, and that Charlie had something to do with it. I did my best to appear unperturbed, but committed the names and our conversation to memory. Soon, they all piled into the two cars and sped away. Only moments later, appearing from the opposite direction, the police arrived.

obstacles

I was driving a VW Beetle along a remote road that, strangely, was thick with traffic. The long line of cars stuttered along, stopping and starting, held up by something unseen ahead. The car behind me persistently encroached on my space and, pressured, I too repeatedly braked too close to the car in front. Eventually, worried that I would collide, I swerved to the left, joining another lane, which, once there, turned out not to be a lane at all but a dwindling line of cars that had pulled over and was now attempting to rejoin the queue. I too indicated to move right, but the ground between the side of the road and the road opened, birthing a dirt ditch, just wide and deep enough to swallow a small car. The other cars crossed the ditch, merging with traffic, and the long line of cars drove into the distance, leaving me alone with my car pitched against a wall of dirt. Stepping out of the car, I took a look around. The road disappeared and I found myself in a canyon, rock walls stretching high and the ground now dirt and rocks. I could see quartz and other mineral rocks protruding from the cliff walls, buried but for their glittering tips. I skirted the walls, observing the rock formations, until I remembered the car. Returning to it, I could see that it too was now wedged into the dirt, buried up to the roof. I would need help to retrieve it. More alarmingly, however, there were two snakes dozing next to the car, effectively blocking my path. One snake, extremely long and pale green, coiled in a heap, although disquieting, appeared less threatening than the other. The second snake was much shorter, perhaps only a foot or two, with black and brown markings. I knew that this snake was venomous, dangerous. I moved away, pondering what to do, when the dark snake darted at me. Unable to outrun it, I faced it, seizing it just below the head, and threw it as far as I could away from me. It immediately returned, chasing me down, slithering quickly across the dirt, again lashing out at me. Again, I grabbed the snake and hurled it away. This time it struck the canyon wall and transformed upon impact into an animal like a raccoon, and ran into the scrub, hiding. Knowing that, contrary to its disguise, the creature was really a snake, I looked for an escape. A building wall and door appeared, so, rushing past the scrub and the still sleeping green snake, leaving behind my car, I quickly opened the door and closed it behind me, entering a man-made environment - a seemingly safer space. Turning around, I looked through an enormous screened window to the canyon on the other side. Sure enough, I watched as the 'raccoon' morphed back into its true snake form, and slithered out of the scrub. I noticed how the giant screen was built and secured into the window - with neater and better joinery than most, how it protected the inside from the outside so securely, and committed the design to memory.

giant kangaroos

Giant kangaroos. As big as elephants. Dark grey, almost black. Powerful, muscular beasts jumping. Surrounding the house. Threatening.

waiting, anger and communication

I was waiting, sitting reading inane magazines at the hairdressers. My appointment was for four o'clock in the afternoon, and the appointments appeared to be running behind time. I was unperturbed. The hair studio was on the ground floor of a suburban shopping centre and, every so often, people would come in to visit the staff, rather than to have their hair done. Some people were rough, threatening even, and I did my best to remain calm and to placate or humour those that spoke directly to me. Time passed and every so often my hairdresser would tell me that she would not be much longer. A woman who also had been waiting, was finally called upon, but she grew angry and said it was too late; she needed to go home to make dinner for her children. I had not yet looked at the time - clocks were conveniently absent from the walls, but I presumed it to be late in the afternoon. There were no windows so I could not see the sky. I flicked through magazine after magazine, re-reading some. I was growing restless and increasingly irritated by the wait. Some people I knew visited the salon and I asked one of them the time. It was after eight. I was furious. Furious that I had been made to wait over four hours, and even more furious that I had actually waited - no one had forced me to sit there hour upon hour waiting for such a ridiculous amount of time. I searched for my hairdresser to tell her that I was leaving and could not find her. I hurried out the back and saw that the staff were lazing about, gossiping. I told off one young woman, saying I would tell everyone I knew. I immediately regretted saying that as it was not the message I wanted to communicate. I wanted to say I was angry, and that their service was one not worth the wait. My words were caught in my mouth; indeed, my mouth seemed full. I realised I had a giant wad of chewing gum in my mouth and spat it out, but it made little difference. Still my mouth seemed slow and unwieldy. I knew that I was most angry at myself for having wasted precious time through being too compliant, too easygoing, and now I could not seem to communicate my anger.

layers

I was walking, at night, alone. I ventured into a small, dark cabin and, finding nothing there, I opened the door, intending to leave. A tall man stood in the doorway, blocking my path. He said nothing, but closed the door again, locking it. I was trapped inside and wondered what would happen. After a time, he opened the door and ushered me out into a yard where several other people were waiting. I was instructed to climb up a ladder, onto a diving platform above the pool, where I was to undress and then dive into the pool. The people sat around, awaiting my performance. I climbed up and began to undress, but beneath each layer of clothing was another layer. There was nothing provocative about the routine; each item of clothing was sensible rather than attractive. I removed a pair of black socks to find sports socks; under my jacket, I wore several layers; under my pants, were other pairs of pants; and so on. Concerned about appearing naked in front of the audience, I seemed to conjure layer upon layer of clothing.

The following night, a similar dream:

I was in the bathroom of my grandmother's house, undressing so as to get ready to go somewhere. In the bathroom with me was someone I trust implicitly. I removed my shoes, my dress and found I was wearing rather old-fashioned undergarments: a camisole and a half-slip petticoat. I attempted to remove the camisole, but, upon pulling it up toward my head, I found myself stuck. My friend helped me; he did his best to gently tug the top up and over my head, and then helped me with the next item of clothing. Again, there seemed to be several layers of clothing, appearing as I removed each previous item.

witch

Walking through West End in Brisbane, along Hardgrave Road. Past cafes brimming with people, past bars and restaurants full to capacity. I turned up Dornoch Terrace and soon happened upon an old woman, a frightening woman. I could sense her. She deliberately bumped into me and then cursed. I turned, deciding to go back the way I had come, to avoid her. She followed closely, too closely, so that I had to speak with her. I asked her name, but I didn't quite catch her reply. Her face was deeply lined from what appeared to be years of drinking or smoking or drugs, her bottom lip laced with piercings, perhaps twenty or more. Her hair was wild and grey, blowing about her head. I went to walk through a tunnel under the road, hoping to lose her. But she descended with me and I found myself in a dark space with a strange woman who demanded to know my thoughts. 'I wish you well. Whatever you do, I wish you well,' I answered. Once again, I asked her name. This time I heard her. Gwineth. Upon knowing her name, I said goodbye and turned around again, leaving the tunnel and walking back to the business of the cafes and restaurants. I knew I had encountered a witch and, somehow, I felt implicated, having been in her presence, as though the people would assume that I was also a witch and of ill intent.

broken

I was in the home of an acquaintance, who is an expert in her field - a creative, a diva, known for her work. She was out of the house and I was busying myself at her dressing table, in front of the mirror. A beautiful antique china vase with a hinged lid sat atop the dressing table. I carefully opened the lid for a moment, touching it lightly so as not to damage it. Closing it, I looked back into the mirror, when I heard something crack. The lid of the vase was broken, a jagged hole in the lid and a piece of china adrift on the dressing table. I was horrified, not sure what to do. My friend returned home and I had to tell her. She was extremely upset and told me it had been her grandmother's. It was very precious to her. I promised to buy her something of value, another antique vase, but I knew that nothing could match the value of this piece. I had broken something of great personal value to her and it could not be fixed.
Next, I was in the bedroom of another acquaintance, again a creative, a rather studied man, once revered for his work. He handed me his diary - a stylish black Moleskin - and a sharp lead pencil. He asked me to write something down and left the room. I opened the diary, wrote on the last page, ripped it out, folded it and put it in my pocket. Suddenly, I realised that I had ruined the diary, that, with a page missing, torn from the book, it was no longer complete. For such a perfectionistic man, I knew the diary was broken. I rushed from the room, determined to buy another diary, but, flicking through the pages, I could see page after page of personal entries, written in a careful hand in lead pencil. Nothing would replace this diary, which evidently was of great value to the man. I returned to the room, placed the diary carefully on his bed, and left, hoping, somehow, that he would never notice the torn edge of the last missing page in his book.

trapped

Early evening and the streets were in darkness. I was in an unfamiliar town, heading home, walking with three tall, burly, bearded mountain men. I liked them immensely, but I knew them little. We reached a narrow lane and the man started down it. I hesitated, scanning the crossroad, realising I had a choice: I could go with them, trust them, or walk back the way we had come and navigate the dark streets alone. Neither option seemed sensible. The men urged me to join them and appeared mystified as to my uncertainty. 'I don't know you,' I said. I looked again back down the road, a few people now milling under the street lights, and thought I'd go that way. Immediately, a gate closed across the lane entrance. A third time, I looked back down the road  and now the people were in turmoil: men hurting women, women hurting one another, gangs travelling up the road toward me. Violence, crime and torture. I ran at the gate, it opened and I fled down the lane, calling to others in the lane to run, run. A young girl started screaming and I clapped my hand over her mouth, running with her, anxious that we should escape unheard, unharmed. At the end of the lane, I emerged into a maze of streets, alone but for the three men. Finding my car, I jumped in and the men all helped to push the car into a secure position from which to climb the steep and alarmingly narrow road. I drove up and, upon reaching a huge step, poked my legs through the car floor and stepped up, dragging the car with me. At the top of the hill I looked back to see that the men had driven a different route and I wondered, had I gone the wrong way? I continued on foot, turned into a dark tunnel and climbed up the steep stairs inside. A crowd of people followed, all desperate to go home. At the top of the stairs, the tunnel opened to a lane that ran between tall buildings. I peeked out. Soldiers waited at one end of the lane to my left, and soldiers wearing a different uniform guarded the other end of the lane to my right. We could not go forward and, because the long, long line of people stretched all the way back down through the tunnel, we were unable to retreat. We were trapped. A soldier appeared at the doorway and was about to blow the whistle when he spied someone he knew, someone he once fancied, standing third in line. She, knowing the privileges of being in his favour, stepped outside but asked to bring one other person with her. She chose a young man from the front of the queue. I held two old women who leant against me for support, tears spilling onto my cheeks as I could see no rescue, no escape. There was no future for those of us trapped in the tunnel, the soldier about to uncover us.

into the light

We saw something - a light, a ghost, an angel - descend from the sky and settle nearby. I raised myself into the air and flew over, sweeping in a large arc, and landed close to the light - for now, it was clear it was light. B joined me, having followed on foot, and waded without hesitation into the light. 'Come in,' she called. I tentatively dipped a hand into the glittering sea of white and purple particles, but I withdrew quickly as the light prickled and needled my skin. I persisted and, after a few attempts, I stepped into the light. Walking around, the light ceased to prickle and, instead, I felt bathed in wonder.