Sunday, March 22, 2009

Dream Academy

What secrets do I keep when I’m wailing in my sleep?

Once again, days of weird and wacky nocturnal storytelling. Maybe it’s the tequila and popcorn before bed.

Last night, instead of the teeth crumbling and falling from mouth, I can fly or naked before the big test dream, I lost my fingers. One I actually bite off myself. At least two or three total, definitely one from each hand; clean and non-bloody nubs, fully contained and wrapped up like the finger of a latex surgery glove filled with jelly. I was so engaged in the dream at one point I searched for (and found) a pulled phalange in the afghan. And no, I didn’t awake to rolled pieces of Tempur-Pedic® foam or condom from the nightstand blown up like a balloon. I'm troubled with my biting a piece of me away, especially from my hands, my tools.

The night before brought a tangle of intrigue and mystery and fear, starring a man and woman I’ve never met in real life but in whose lives I found myself pulled over the edge into (and in truth I did some jumping). Mistake, relationship mingling. And I’m sad it may have cost two potential friends. The dream says it did. Silence says it might have.

Perhaps I need to invest in a dream dictionary and work out the demons not expelled in waking hours that keep me twisted in sheets at night and confused when eyes open again.

In the practice of yoga, it's suggested you breathe in and return a word to the room, your intention, the thing lacking in the moment you wish to bring forward and address. My first week it was power - as in strength, not conquering or control. Last week I exhaled peace.

Today? I may ask for comfort.

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