three dreams

Three dreams -
One: A friend was voluntarily locked in a room. I tiptoed around outside the room, doing my best to be silent. I collected glass after used glass from the floor, all of them drained of one or another alcoholic drink that my friend had consumed. Wine glasses, champagne flutes, beer glasses and empty bottles; I collected as many as I could, setting them upon the sink, doing my best not to wake her.
Two: My friend shouted at my brother over the telephone. I was appalled, outraged, and would not let it be. It was as though she had attacked the most precious, most vulnerable part of myself. I insisted that she call back and apologise; not until she had done so would I even consider continuing any kind of friendship. She called, the other members of my immediate family present. She apologised, but insincerely, without actually taking responsibility and with no remorse. It was not enough. I did not believe her, or sense any kind of true understanding of her actions, only that she did not want to be punished. My mother and my sister backed me. We all wanted her to call again and truthfully express her apologies at having vented so misguidedly.
Three: I was driving my car, attempting to park at a venue around four in the afternoon. The venue carpark was closed and so I drove around the nearby streets, searching for a park. I wanted to find somewhere close and well lit so that once the event had finished, I could return to my car quickly and safely. I saw someone leaving a great spot, directly opposite the venue, on a corner. I drove easily into the park, but, once there, realised that it was reserved for buses and other commercial vehicles. I left and drove around a couple of streets, each taking me further from the venue and increasingly dark. I saw what I initially thought was a great park; certainly easy to get in to. However, while driving into it, I looked around and saw that the surrounding houses reeked with bad energy. I senses danger. I looked back to my park too late and drove straight into a pit that had opened in the road before me. I dropped through the ground into darkness and, immediately, my car turned into a bicycle and I caught it between my knees and grabbed onto the side of the road so that I hung from it, and my bike hung from me. I waited there for someone to give me a hand up. I thought that, should they come, I could pass them my bike (which I knew to really be a car) and then climb out of the pit with their assistance. I did not want to fall, knowing that it would be into the unknown.

not me

I had had an accident and I no longer had control of my body or mind. I was taken to a church event, which seemed fine, but I was in despair for I no longer had choice or expression. I wept. I cried for myself, for my brain, for my body. I was encumbered by the existing, surviving, misshapen, incomprehensible remnant of who I once had been.

insectile bird

A tiny bird, the size of a matchbox, flew through the window and circled the room. Featherless, it resembled a robotic bird, an insect, more than a bird. It whirred musically, mechanically as it flew. A flesh pink insect ten times its size snatched at the bird flying past. It scuttled after it, legs needling air, desperate to clutch it, to eat it. The bird hummed past, erratic, frantic, until it escaped back through the open window.

trapped

I was on my way home, having travelled far away. My luggage was packed into the back of a taxi and I sat in the passenger seat, waiting for the taxi driver to collect another person before we could be on our way. The taxi was parked on a road in a park. Rain suddenly bucketed from the sky and pandemonium broke loose. People were running, cars drove wildly around the path and across the grass. In the confusion, the taxi driver started the engine and drove, without the other passenger, attempting to move the car away from the chaos until it had calmed. I was nervous and felt trapped. We drove up the street, through a lot of construction, overseen by numerous police and security guards. We passed a marching band and maneuvered our way through narrow streets and tall buildings. I was lost. The taxi driver, an old man, tried to kiss me. I told him to stop but he persisted until I shouted at him. Even then, he crossed boundaries and I repeatedly had to defend my space. I did not try to leave the taxi; I felt I couldn't. We drove back to the park where we picked up my friend. While the driver was busy with something, I asked her if she would mind being dropped off at my house, then I could drive her home. She was puzzled, but agreed. I didn't want an opportunity where the man might try to come in. I then realised that the man was going to see where I lived, and I tried to concoct a different address. Through the car window, I could see a dear friend in the park and I wanted to go to him, but, again, I felt trapped in the taxi. The driver steered the car across the park and, instead of turning onto the road and going home, he drove through the pond to the other side where he lived in a shack. We alighted the taxi and visited his home. I did not want to be there. The memory of other women haunted the place, women he had taken there. I could not only feel them, but hear them. Some were laughing at us, some were warning. I hoped they knew I was not there willingly, that I would continue to defend my space and that of my friend.

blissful home

We were inside our home with guests. While B was talking with them, I wandered outside into the garden. It was late in the day and the moon had risen; a white disc high in a serene blue sky. The garden was in full bloom and huge soft pink roses had opened overnight. They were fat and lovely, their velvety petals wide and fragrant. I went back inside, eager to tell B and show her our garden. She was in the middle of a conversation so I waited until the time was right and then took her outside. The sea had now risen and instead of a distant view of the ocean, its clear turquoise waters lapped at our garden. We were delighted and surprised. I told B that I thought we were dreaming. She agreed and, knowing that it was merely a dream, we decided to enjoy it, aware that if it was real, many people would now be homeless or drowned. As it was, we experienced a kind of magic. B saw the roses and many other flowers - white and pink trumpet lilies, jasmine and other fragrant flowers - all in bloom.

missing out

I was inappropriately dressed, wearing only underwear and boots, and aware of it. Although I was in my house, I was in the presence of strangers and I was extremely uncomfortable, although they seemed not to notice. I did my best to conceal my body while searching for something more appropriate, more covering. Even when dressed, I felt uneasy, and I realised that I was home alone with four strange men. I pretended to see someone I knew outside the window and rushed out, running away.
Now, it was Christmas Eve, at about five or six in the early evening. Everyone seemed to be preparing for great festivities. I opened a suitcase and found a few items of clothing that I added to my attire, but, before I could leave, I was asked to help clean up, even though it was not my home. I carefully washed and dried the dishes in the sink, and cleaned the cupboards, finishing the job, long after other people had left. I wondered how best to celebrate and thought I would wander up the hill to a cluster of huge buildings where people seemed to be flocking - perhaps there I would find B. I saw a dear friend at the entrance of one of the auditoriums and, embracing him, he asked me if I could help him in the next auditorium, to open and close the curtains for a show. I hesitated as I wanted to be on my way, but I followed him through the crowd, into the building and backstage, where I helped him for a while. When I was no longer needed, I left and continued on my way, but I could not now find B anywhere.
Next, it was Christmas Day and I was walking up a busy road, on my way to visit a friend. I thought we would go out to celebrate. I was again aware of what I was wearing - this time a black short dress with heavy black boots. I felt quite strong and determined as I walked. Upon arriving at my friend's house, he said he needed to shower and asked me to make him an omelette. I did so, but all the while I felt amiss, as though I was continually waylaid by other people's needs, and distracted from my purpose. Other people were celebrating while I was otherwise occupied.

marching band and circus solo

I watched an unusual performance. An Australian circus performer, well-known for burlesque, physical performance, and particularly trapeze and hula hoop, was doing a wild and extremely energetic dance. She was dressed in a fantastic red and blue drummer boy outfit: very short glittery shorts, a sparkling midriff top, a tall soldier hat and long boots, and she twirled and tossed a baton. Her physical strength and skill was compelling. Behind her, accompanying her, was a Christian marching band. Perhaps one or two hundred young people, playing a range of instruments and dressed in blue school uniform, marched behind her. The music was sensational; featuring brass and percussion, providing a strong and driving rhythm. The contrast between the two looks was very striking. Where she was extraverted, highly individual and sexy, the band, though moving in time to the music, were uniform, conservative and modest. Together, it worked brilliantly.