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Redbud trees nicely strung with, er, violet and fuschia blooms, other slender limbed trees clouded in popcorn balls of white flowers, shaggy green forsythia bushes starred in pop-yellow blossoms...I counted six different songbirds singing out the back window this morning. Seven if you count the hoarse daffy duck rawk of the crow, and why shouldn't you? March and here comes Spring. I remember when I lived in Maine I used to hope it wouldn't snow on the crocuses in May.
The dream last night was long and focused, very narrative. In quick strokes: I was a very waifish kidling, ragamuffiny and starvling, even, without a pot to piss in. Living in a newly post industrial world, lots of trains and dirt roads and mud; well-off parts of the town/city had their gates shut at night. In one of these enclaves lived a woman who was sometimes nice to me, though I wasn't really sure if she could be trusted (I was sure of very little in this dream, no one to count on, confused by the world and my place in it). Her home, which was on one of the clean, but still dirt, byways, and shared walls with other homes, but was still in the wealthy area, had a deep portico/porch area, under the roof but open to the air (felt rather South American or Mexican) and was filled with beautiful and odd things. In the shadows of the portico, where it was lovely and cool, there was a kind of altar to JC--enforcing the South America/Mexico feel--with fairly odd-for-an-altar objects. One of them was a guitar which started sweating and dripping a sweet liquid--kind of a miracle crying Virgin thing. The woman caught some in a cup for waifish me and let me sip it. It was divine, fresh, sweet: nectar. But then she grabbed me, bent over me and bit me really hard, so hard I cried out and ran away. I ran out the enclave gate and to the train station, through the lobby which was filled with people and post-industrial style advertisements, to the platform, which was also crowded. Unsure how I was going to get on the train, but I felt I had to get away. I noticed how ragged and muddy I was and that there were very deep puddles of clean water near the tracks, so I washed myself in one. Then, cold and wet, but cleaner, I waited for the train, which I could see coming in the distance, planning to hop it with the crowd for cover.
There was a lot of very vivid sensory stuff, and great feeling of the tragedy and injustice of my waifish life.
The dream last night was long and focused, very narrative. In quick strokes: I was a very waifish kidling, ragamuffiny and starvling, even, without a pot to piss in. Living in a newly post industrial world, lots of trains and dirt roads and mud; well-off parts of the town/city had their gates shut at night. In one of these enclaves lived a woman who was sometimes nice to me, though I wasn't really sure if she could be trusted (I was sure of very little in this dream, no one to count on, confused by the world and my place in it). Her home, which was on one of the clean, but still dirt, byways, and shared walls with other homes, but was still in the wealthy area, had a deep portico/porch area, under the roof but open to the air (felt rather South American or Mexican) and was filled with beautiful and odd things. In the shadows of the portico, where it was lovely and cool, there was a kind of altar to JC--enforcing the South America/Mexico feel--with fairly odd-for-an-altar objects. One of them was a guitar which started sweating and dripping a sweet liquid--kind of a miracle crying Virgin thing. The woman caught some in a cup for waifish me and let me sip it. It was divine, fresh, sweet: nectar. But then she grabbed me, bent over me and bit me really hard, so hard I cried out and ran away. I ran out the enclave gate and to the train station, through the lobby which was filled with people and post-industrial style advertisements, to the platform, which was also crowded. Unsure how I was going to get on the train, but I felt I had to get away. I noticed how ragged and muddy I was and that there were very deep puddles of clean water near the tracks, so I washed myself in one. Then, cold and wet, but cleaner, I waited for the train, which I could see coming in the distance, planning to hop it with the crowd for cover.
There was a lot of very vivid sensory stuff, and great feeling of the tragedy and injustice of my waifish life.
