dream
Remnants of my dreams still float around my head. They come back like scenes of adventure and fantasy films.
In one scene I am standing on a tall green mountain top that overlooks the rest of the land. The kind of mountain top I imagine in Africa or the Tropics. I'm up very high. I remember wondering why heights make me nervous. Why I always have to live in fear, unlike those who live recklessly and fearlessly. I notice a small mossy ledge that will catch me from an initial fall. I calm down.
Another scene is more of a horror scene. I am standing on the terrace of my wood cabin home. I have a husband and kids. The house is on stilts and is surrounded by a jungle of thick bushes and plants that you must hack your way through. If someone is standing down in the bushes all you can see is the top of their head. In it there are two men. They are running through with large weed wackers. We can hear them brutally slashing people to death. There are screams. I grab my family in fear and we run away. They don't catch us.
In another scene I am flown over the remnants of a lost city. Buildings and structures lie decrepit and devastated. Towers are on the ground. Broken glass and dust. A whole city. The sight is beautiful and unexpected. It goes on for miles. Suddenly I am in a tour boat looking at it. Someone tells me "It's all made of cotton," and the scene loses it's intensity.
Another scene I sit on a log on the beach with some friends. A few feet away lie three dead bodies. They are not disturbing somehow. These bodies lie peaceful, faces partly in the sand, as if death were the most ordinary thing. I feel tempted to go up to them and look at their faces. I know my curiosity will be regarded strangely so I stay sitting. I want to search their faces for expression, identity; life. And I remember wondering: is this why soldiers and murderers can kill people so easily? Because it's not so disturbing after all? Because it seems so harmless?
Went I went to bed last night it was much earlier than usual. I felt an overwhelming fatigue. My head felt light and I felt I was half sleeping already. I had the sense I was losing ground between reality and my dreams.
Sometimes I fear my imagination will take over my mind. That I'll lose all ground. People will wonder what happened to me. Everyone will say: "We've lost her to her dreams". I'll look back at them numbly, and know that I can see something they can't.
In one scene I am standing on a tall green mountain top that overlooks the rest of the land. The kind of mountain top I imagine in Africa or the Tropics. I'm up very high. I remember wondering why heights make me nervous. Why I always have to live in fear, unlike those who live recklessly and fearlessly. I notice a small mossy ledge that will catch me from an initial fall. I calm down.
Another scene is more of a horror scene. I am standing on the terrace of my wood cabin home. I have a husband and kids. The house is on stilts and is surrounded by a jungle of thick bushes and plants that you must hack your way through. If someone is standing down in the bushes all you can see is the top of their head. In it there are two men. They are running through with large weed wackers. We can hear them brutally slashing people to death. There are screams. I grab my family in fear and we run away. They don't catch us.
In another scene I am flown over the remnants of a lost city. Buildings and structures lie decrepit and devastated. Towers are on the ground. Broken glass and dust. A whole city. The sight is beautiful and unexpected. It goes on for miles. Suddenly I am in a tour boat looking at it. Someone tells me "It's all made of cotton," and the scene loses it's intensity.
Another scene I sit on a log on the beach with some friends. A few feet away lie three dead bodies. They are not disturbing somehow. These bodies lie peaceful, faces partly in the sand, as if death were the most ordinary thing. I feel tempted to go up to them and look at their faces. I know my curiosity will be regarded strangely so I stay sitting. I want to search their faces for expression, identity; life. And I remember wondering: is this why soldiers and murderers can kill people so easily? Because it's not so disturbing after all? Because it seems so harmless?
Went I went to bed last night it was much earlier than usual. I felt an overwhelming fatigue. My head felt light and I felt I was half sleeping already. I had the sense I was losing ground between reality and my dreams.
Sometimes I fear my imagination will take over my mind. That I'll lose all ground. People will wonder what happened to me. Everyone will say: "We've lost her to her dreams". I'll look back at them numbly, and know that I can see something they can't.
posted by Gillian Young at 6:29 AM
1 Comments:
its true , you can see stuff....they can't. better yet you can "pen-it" quite write:) stumbled upon the blog, not just any blog mind you--yours ! very nice , quite entertaining, somehow. you have talent and developing gumption (iz that a word ?) a great supporting family and your cute-ta boot ! -------never quit !
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