Entry posted in my LJ on October 18, 2004. Just curious what you might have to say about them. clericatrius
recommended me to your site, as I am contstantly inflicting my unusual dreams on him! :)
It is good to dream again, wild, shifting dreams that have eluded me for the past few weeks. last night, so different, so pure, random collections of all the sundry sensory input I've received over the past few days...
The first dream about a stalker, whose eyes rattled around in his sockets, jaw unhinged, stalking a woman at work, then shifting his attentions to me. He resembled one of the homeless men downtown, unshaven and dirty, with a hint of madness in his stare, the feral hunger of a man obsessed. At my desk, i saw him in the lobby window behind me, and hid, like a child, in my sleeping bag of youth, waiting for my breathing to calm. He disappears, police soon swarming around the office, and Lisa G, a childhood friend, reporting to them that he's been after her for weeks now. I go home in the wintry evening, premature dark making the shadows seem extra blue, and realize he's followed me home in his black beat up Nova, and now sits outside my windows, disturbed energy reaching into me. Other are there with me, but not for long. All the windows are unlocked, I go in the brightness of all lights, closing and locking, until I come to the narrow set of oak french doors leading to the patio... and as I try to lock them, his hand, scaled with grease and dirt, appears on the wall in the dark - the fear making my hands shake, I cannot lock the doors. Then shift, I am watching the stalking unfold, the constant presence affecting the woman who was just me, the anger, the fear driving her into a madness of her own, a strange symbiotic need to be stalked, need for insane attention. She, in moments of clarity, puts a gun to the window and fires, leaded glass shattering over the balcony, deadly shrapnel destroying plants and the dark. She, in moments of madness, allows him to come close and brush her hair with his fingers in a crowd. He follows her everywhere, wears her down with his obsession. His presence like a viper, sliding closer to her composure, one scale at a time, one breath away from his possession. He becomes more human as the dream progresses. I awake for a moment, breathless and stricken with fear, struggling to wake from it.
Then, another dream:
In the mercurial shimmering ocean, every green tropical cliff before me filled with waterfalls, I, standing on the water far enough away to see the vast expanse of paradisaical island. I have never seen this island in the dreaming, but it smacks of familiarity, and I instantly know of it's inner hidden cities and where the crystal sparkling water springs forth. I fly into the shore, touch on the gemstone beaches, there are hundreds of people on the island, I can feel all of their shimmering life energies.
In the center of the island, from the main spring that flows up the cliffs and to the sea in hundreds of waterfalls, a water spout can be seen, spiraling white water into the sky, flashing crystal in the sun. This Cyclone, no matter the winds, is always there, keeping her terrible prominent warning hovering over the pale city. It is very obviously a female, cycling, circling, randomly destroying a house or shop around her, keeping the city dwellers and travelers wary of her beautiful and destructive presence.
I am beseeched as one who can speak to her, to call her away from the city that they may live in peace. This surprises me, as I come new to the shores, yet already I am honored as if the island is mine. I clear the beach of all bystanders, people now huddled in the lees of the great green and earthy cliffs before me, and dig my toes into the multi-colored sand. I call her to me, this great cyclonic force, this water spout of vast magnitude, to negotiate, to understand. She comes, like a great unblinking whirling eye, to descend snaking and weaving over me, vast magnificence spreading into the sky. I quake, but cover my fear with humility for her majestic sight. I speak to her, sing to her, cajole her into moving from the city. I offer her two magnetic rods, white and cunningly made, that allows her to bring forth water anywhere she desires. As we talk, my consciousness ranges over the island to find a suitable place for her to relocate. Outwardly, my talk is coy and unaffected. I espy a sacred grove, tunneled deep into the mountainous earth, a deep basin whose pools also brings the waterfalls to the edges of the coast. Known by only a few locals, its waters known for healing and powers of rejuvenation. I tell her of the place, bolster her fame and magnificence with promises that her strength could bring healing and worship, and this sacred grove would be more suited to her temperament, unpolluted by the filth of humankind. "The people will come to see your greatness," I coo, "as it is your greatness that will heal their souls. You will become revered beyond all else." She relents from the city, and takes position in the grove, the Sacred Keepers forewarned of their roles by telepathy from me. Already, the island rejoices, and the sick and lame make ready their pilgrimages to her healing waters.
I then transform to a middle aged korean man, whose wife is a scientist, studying the sea creatures that live amongst the cliffs, and find hidden passages and secret technologies within the cliff-faces, rooms and dwellings long forgotten by the island's inhabitants. Surprise and delight as i explore elevators and shining rooms, dusty from misuse, worlds of possibilities running through my head.
There was more but I awoke to my alarm buzzing, and has since been lost in the morning's distraction.