Night after night

I ride the Mobius strip

Racing

To the very brink of

Death

The existence of the

Universe

Only to hang poised

For an endless moment

At the edge

Before racing back along

The way I came

Breathless

Unnerved

And make the trip

All over again

They say each

Character in

One's dream

Is a part of oneself

So, tell me

Please

Who am I

When I dream

Often

Of

Being parented by

a gruff- but, lovable

Danny DeVito?

I dream of family reunions

on some aunt and uncle's farm

sawhorses and planks cover with gingham

hasty tables laden with food

surrounded by those

long passed

acting so human

looking young and full of life

fighting over what should go where

whose apple pie most favored

how to cut the melons

me the child watching unnoticed

as they act out

those days

unremarkable. 

I wanted her silver eyes to be real. But it was a reoccurring dream. Her soft, lush auburn locks would battle the wind. Wearing a lavender gown, she would beckon to me from a green meadow. As if under her spell, I would follow, for her eyes were full of love and desire. Through narrow alleys amongst old, abandoned buildings, she would lead me to a house - my house. After a tremulous, mysterious smile, she would disappear and I would wake up.       

         Everyone told me to let it go because it was just a dream. Today, I had the same dream, only this time, I went inside the house. Pale, lifeless bodies of my loved ones were lying on the floor. She had slain every threat to her world between dream and reality. I wanted her silver eyes to be a lie. But it was excruciatingly real. 

I am surrounded by 100 butterflies, fluttering in a surreal dream, and I am lost in the country somewhere.  Ninety-nine of the arthropods fly onward while the one draws close.  I am befriended by this question mark butterfly and transforming an answer.

Though I wish it were so, I am not converted to a butterfly. I am an old river, turned woman of the water, and I'm on a raft.  The country road has disappeared as well as the butterfly.  I am destitute and alone, reaching for a disclosure.  I hear an echo in my voice as I call out, "Is anybody there?"

"Time is relative." I hear the reply as I tumble like dice, rolling forward into an unknown future.  My past is losing memory as old familiar faces fade.  In a sudden change, I see the eyes of my elderly mother.  Once again, she turns into a butterfly.

I wish I could walk in and rip her out - just step in through the ear and wander around the cranial lobes until I find her. The skull is meant to protect the brain from harm, to enclose that which manifests the essence of my life. Yet, night after night she’s there. Leave me be or I’ll tear you to pieces, I tell her. She never listens. Why should she? Crossing over into my brain was easy enough. In this unconscious oblivion, I make my stand, struggling to reclaim the cortex of my mind. I wake wearisome, still trying to cast her out. She is an affliction, a torture, a sickness. Be gone!  The screams echo, in light and dark, while awake and in sleep. Death seems the only way to be rid of her, to vanquish this disturbed plague. It's decided; tonight I’ll carry a knife to bed.

I've recently been studying the subject of dreams and their meanings. Specifically reoccurring dreams, prophetic dreams, and dreams that include passed spirits.

I dream regularly about my grandmother who passed away in 2003. We are always in her house, where I spent a lot of time as a child. We speak to each other and she tells me that things will be okay, and we are in her kitchen. She hugs me and I can feel her. I realize that we've had a separation in time and I ask her to stay, and she tells me she isn't leaving and she'll be there when I get back. I start to walk away but hesitate, feeling that I need her. I go back to her to tell her how much I miss her and that I need her. She assures me I'll be fine, kisses me and I wake up. Every time, crying.