Dreaming of Dreams

In my dream I am very happy. I am holding hands with an Indian man who is my height and very soft looking. Pudgy just over his belt. Smiling. Wearing black rimmed glasses. “I’m so happy!” I think.

And then I remember a something that is more like a feeling of something. Like remembering a far away dream. Am I happy? Why do I think I’m so happy? And then I know. I am not happy. I am profoundly not happy. And something amazing is missing. Something that I miss desperately.

Unfair Memories

I had a dream and in my dream I had a memory of another dream. Here I was again in the house I had been in before- antique and rambling, stairways that lead to other stairways and going sideways so the house moves out as well as up. East and west and east and west and then up and up and up. In one dream there were witches in the house, translucent and cackling and running up and down while I ran to the attic to hide from something outside. In another I was setting up to avoid roommates, pushing all of my stuff into a corner and trying not to be intrusive. But always there are those big white doors, long lines in the paint revealing the wood beneath. Always familiar. But only then: only in the dreaming and the looking at them. So unfair to my waking self!

Until the one morning I woke up and remembered.

Still the big welcome feeling lingering…the doors swinging open and then there it is: the quiet giant ballroom stretching out and the wood floors gleaming. Tucked away behind the one pair of big white doors… Even now I want to cry, it is so beautiful and wide and bright.

And it’s all mine.