dreams and again dreams

for the past two nights i have dreamt of you. vividly.

these flashes of you stay with me. through my day, it is normal, nothing different then, a flash, and im back in my waking life, shaken, stirred and disrupted from these images of you.

the first night, i saw you come back. you'd come back again, and now, instead of elation, instead of that happy excited and faithful deeply moving sentiment i had this last time, i felt sick. sick. completely sick. i was still addicted to you, and you took me, took me away again, to your world, to your cave, like you always do. and i was helpless to resist, i could not even start to say no, i gathered my things and with you, i flew..

and then there, you as you always do, acting as though there was nothing wrong.. in your own head, contained in your own heart, obvlivious to me, to the events around us. passionate as always, looking and talking to me, but i couldn't even focus anymore on what you were saying. i couldn't hear you anymore. all i could do was feel sad, and feel sick, at my complete inability to resist you.

around us, other forces. distracting forces. before long you were occupied, and i, alone.
most of all i remeber you were sad and forlorn. broken, always broken.

in this first dream, this first night also, you and i, in front of my mother. there, you were not animated as usual, you were simply sullen. and i introduced you, and she hardly passed you a second glance. hardly at all. she passed me one though, that seemed to say, what... in the world, is this?


then last night, as a story only briefly interrupted, you returned again, and this time, when you took me with you, i met the three most important women, in your life. at least, this current one. like yesterday, flashes of this dream dreamt come back, choking me, gripping my heart, startling me all over again, the implications so loud, the message so clear and yet, so unable for me to grasp. i feel like a blind and deaf woman, stumbling through an old barnyard, trying to make sense of these objects, these messages...

i saw three women. and i remember them each clearly.

the girlfriend, a lost and needy girl. always calling your name. constantly panicked, generally an energy of out of control surrounding her. like in your driveway i discounted her, and hardly noticed her constant reaching, yelling, and generally chaotic reeling. she was blonde. the hair was shorter, unlike the woman i saw that night.

then, heather too came to me. the sharpest and the shortest of the three. she came in, and i watched her come, seeing her from a distance, bracing myself against her sharp, focused, clear, no nonsense energy. somehow, these two women seemed to get along, have a relationship, something, with heather as the brains, or the driving force, and the girl acting as a puppet for her. that is what it seemed to me, back here, with the filters of worlds between me and then. but the main situation witih heather shocked me, and still does. she came up to me, straight, and pinched my arm. looked me in the eye and said, aha. sheila. she knew exactly who i was. and called me by name. then nodded, and left.

after a time though, i didn't really have energy or space to decipher her or your other girl, because here, i saw your daughter, sitting on the floor, silently, quietly playing. she has big eyes, and straight dark hair. a pony tail. a sullen, serious and very aware expression on her face. she knows what is going on, she quietly observes, but sinks deeply into her own world, shutting the rest of it out. she's playing, on the ground, cross legged. and when i see her, i sink as well, down onto the floor with her, everything in me softening, and escaping too this adult world that i don't like or understand, your adult drama that should never have involved me. and everything in me focuses on this little girl, on your shiran.. forgetting everything else, seeing nothing else but her. caring really for nothing, but her. and she opens to me, as most children do, for this quality i never let die in myself since i was her age, that i swore i would always keep alive. the ability to see what was really important. and what isn't...

and we played. cardboard cuttouts, something with blocks.. i don't remember. all i do remember was her big eyes, brown, dark, but wide, looking at me, almost meditatively, appraisingly, solemnly... then saying, "i must say, you make an excellent playmate." and all i know other than this little girls voice echoing in my mind still now, was the warmth that poured through my body at her small voice, these few words, and the incredible meaning and implication of them.

dreams and again dreams. will you never leave me, taking this dark plague with you? will you never set me free? am i to stir like this, night after night, do i already, have i all this time, only recently now remembering them?

dreams and again dreams. what will i ever do with you?