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vice grip

January 31, 2010

Last night I had a couple of dreams.

In the first, I was on a plane. Planes in their own right are terrifying things for me. Something about giving up control. Something about my life being in the hands of someone else. Of course, I am realising that this idea of being ‘in control’ is just an illusion, and that my life is always on a thread, regardless of whether I choose to acknowledge that fact or not. I think the plane was in outer space. Probably because I was looking at photographs of nebulas before I went to sleep. The sky was purple and filled with stars. It wasn’t even going down yet, but I was terrified.

Dream 2: I’m walking with my mum down the street, and remember that I’ve left something very important in my car. I tell her to wait where she is and start running back to my car. I’m barefoot. The concrete hurts the soles of my feet. A black mercedes is driving slowly down the dark street towards me, passing into the glow of each orange street light, getting closer. All the windows are blackened out. It’s lights are off. I am running as fast as my body will carry me, the balls of my feet barely even touching the ground. I have to cross the street, right in front of this car, or else I’ll be trapped between it and a wall. I imagine that there are guns inside. I imagine that there are rapists inside. I imagine that my mum is back there very scared, and I feel terror like I’ve never felt before. The road isn’t finished, my feet hurt, I fly, but am in the open without any armor. I wake up. Cold sweat. And force myself to go back in and finish what I started.

I wake up this morning understanding something about myself and about life:
Some things cannot be fought; some things have to be let go; sometimes you have to be vulnerable.

This journey is all fun and games until you ask something impossible of yourself.

I dance this morning.

These notes, I think, that ride on the energy of the room,
dance to their own beat.

So unencumbered by physical space
by bodies and walls
they fly

I remember lying on the floor at Kerry’s house
and she sent me into a trance where
my body started moving
the rattle she was playing and
the rattle she was playing was moving
my body
and we both filled the room
with this pulsating rhythm
like a field of wheat moving in the wind
or like a body of water moving over a mountain
except that there was no wind
and there was no water

only the sound
only the rhythm.

How easy it is, I think,
when there’s music there.
How easy it is, I think,
to dance alone.

Music notes cannot hurt you
and cannot chase you down the street
or crash your plane into the ground.
One does not need armour when dealing
with music notes
or with colours
or with words
or with plants.

This sword, it seems,
was forged only for humans.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. May 5, 2010 19:37

    Planes scare me too. So much I need Xanax just to board one.

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