It was bizarre. Terrible and wonderful, it (like so many of my dreams), made me feel that waking pulled me from another reality. And no I was not on drugs. When I have these I am certain I am supposed to write them down, which I do, but I don’t finish them. I don’t flesh them out, adding details and depth. I’m hoping to change that. There is no urgency once I have recorded the basics; if I have notes I can recall the dream, the story and the feeling it wrought.
My dream last night had me shifting perspectives (as usual) and when I jotted down the details to help me remember, they became a poem of sorts. Strange I know but the whole thing struck me in such I way that I felt I had to share. Though it is hardly my best work.
It was very sad. But so beautiful, I wish I could give you more details than the poem reveals. Mayhap in time I will finish this story.
Notes on a dream, night of May 30, 2007
First I was the mother,
Choosing men over my child,
Sending him away, alone.
Then I was the child –
My own friend, playing with ants
And imagining armies.
Then I was the woman,
Childless, finding my family in a lonely boy,
Loving him as his mother never could.
Finally I became the observer,
Watching the sweet and sad reunion of
True mother and child mistakenly born to another.
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