Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Night Moves


The old white washing machine was in a partially dismantled state. The person working on it was familiar, but I couldn’t remember his name. Like a prospector, he removed several screens and filters clogged with grit and sand and held them up to the light. I was wondering what the machine would sound like when I suddenly found myself driving it from the yard to the road in front of my childhood home. It had become a strange, long, hollow van with rain on the windshield. But the steering wheel was at the rear, and it was hard to see where I was going. Through will alone, I managed to move the controls to the front where they belonged. I pulled onto the road and headed toward town. It was night. Up ahead, someone had parked a car across the road. Several people were waiting beside it. They seemed hostile and menacing, so I turned the washing machine van around. I decided to take the back way. I drove past the neighbor’s vineyard and into a large room. My mother was in the room. She was sitting up in bed, exhausted after having taken a shower. I stood beside her. There was a top hat on the dresser. I put it on. She said, “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.” There were French doors leading out. Through the glass I could see stars, clear to the ground.

Note: My thanks to Lynn Behrendt for sharing this dream in the Annandale Dream Gazette.

Related: The Thing About Strawberries: 31 Dreams


Update:
In the Forum: at least he doesn’t hate me.

13 comments:

lakeviewer said...

Dream Uh? I got it halfway in.

William Michaelian said...

Yes, dream. What did you get?

Janice said...

All I can say is WOW! I had the feeling that you were trying to escape William but there was always a blockade stopping you. Everytime you found another avenue, another blockade. At the end you could have walked out the french doors to a space so wide open and free that the sky met the earth...to freedom. But your beloved mother needed you and wanted you to stay. The french doors remained closed but you could see your freedom, your way out, so close thru the glass. Maybe this should have been my dream...

William Michaelian said...

Maybe so, Janice, and who says dreams can’t be shared? The particulars must vary, of course, but there is still a common theme.

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

I see your dreams like a need of yours "ego" exterior to meet your ego unconscious and become friend, likes your unconscious will help you to known yourself

I have this idea

(I hope really you can understand my bad english, because what I wont say is not simple for me...)

William Michaelian said...

Laura, I understand. Sometimes dreams are like looking in the mirror. The longer you look, the more unsure you are of who is who.

Woman in a Window said...

There is elasticity in how you think. I respond to this by wanting to chew gum. Not sensible adult gum, but five to the mouth big balls of gum. It makes no sense to me whatsoever what you write and yet, all the sense in the world. As though contrary to my mom telling me telling me telling me over and over again in my ear to not swallow the wad of gum, I can't resist, my throat like a snake's. Or something like that.

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Erin, thank you. If we were to respond only with our intellect, it would be a stark, barren world indeed.

Wine and Words said...

Through will alone, I manage to move. This is the mantra of my own being William.

William Michaelian said...

In Ertia, such things are possible.

wit 1996 said...

I keep two things in my mind: mantra and mirror,
are you the mirror?
grtngs Willy.

Nazia Mallick said...

I love the white spaces with grey shades surrounding it, in your new layout. I changed mine too, creating the spaces that I so crave these days. Perhaps it is symbolic to simplifying my life. Doing away with unnecessary baggage.
I also have a long standing relationship with Blue. Maybe being my favourite colour , it also became my fate.

Coming to this dream. Uncannily, I saw something similar a few nights ago.
It was our old family car, an Ambassador in a dismantled state. I don't remember much of it now , only the feeling of utter sadness, almost as if my heart is breaking into two, when I got up.
Being superstitious about people I love , I called up my father who is bedridden since last two years. I was relieved to hear his voice and that he is OK, but I couldn't shed the feeling of desolation yet...

William Michaelian said...

Greetings, Willy. I don’t know. Am I? Are you? Are we?

Ah, Nazia — a blue fate. Thanks to you, I will be thinking in those terms today.... I do like the change you’ve made. And if it feels right to you, then it most probably is.

It’s good you called your father.