Dreaming

Weirdness, really, or more of an amalgam of weirdness.  I’m a bit puzzled as to what spawned this dream, let alone why I dreamed it at all.

I don’t dream much since I had my kids; this means it’s been nearly a ten-year dream drought.  Kids’ wakening in the middle of the night too easily disrupts my sleep.  Perhaps it’s that I’ve been suffering from sleep deprivation for a decade; my body simply slams me into deep and dream-free sleep whenever I hit the bed.  I only dream now on occasion, or at least I do not have dreams I recall any more than once a month or once a quarter.  In contrast, I used to have vivid and memorable dreams nightly as a child and as a young woman.

Perhaps blog reading triggered last night’s dream.  Mike with his Mindfuck and the furniture rearranging at Hugh’s SRO, followed by Real Live Preacher on the topic of writing and pastoring.  Of course, Anne Lamott’s latest article in Salon might also have messed with me a bit, what with her visits to church, exploration of spirit and all.

Yeah, maybe this stuff all wound up trapped in my head as loosely connected content that got reformatted into a new storyline. Maybe I shouldn’t go to bed straight away as I did last night after reading this kind of material – but last night I was too tired to clear my mind before dozing off to dream.

I am standing, naked, in front of a three-way mirror.  I am what I am: a mother’s body, funky tan lines, stretch marks, and all.  A feeling of resignation with this body fills me; it’s not the pretty, tight body of youth I used to have, but the body of a woman who’s been through a lot, borne children.

A strong, lithe man’s arms wrap themselves around me as I watch in the mirrors.  Muscular yet lean, they are the arms of a man who works.  The hands are not callused, though; they are the long fingered hands of an artist, a creator of beautiful things.  As the arms wrap about me, his left about my hips and his right about my breasts, I feel his warmth, the firmness of his flesh behind me.  His beard brushes my shoulder, his moustache tickling my earlobe as the warmth of his breath fills my ear.  I hear a word whispered in my left ear: fecund. 

It’s not sexual, although I do feel the acknowledgment of sex between us.  This hug that I am powerless to stop, do not wish to stop, feels less like the hug between partners.  It’s more like the firm and gentle grasp of the farmer, the orchard man as he holds and cradles the fruit of the harvest.  I have the sensation of being adored as much as I adore this person holding me.

Released slowly from this grasp, we lie on the floor, him supine and me next to and above him, semi-reclined.  As I lean on my right hand, I run the fingertips of my left hand over the scar on his chest; we smile at each other.  I cannot help myself, I have to say something stupid and silly to break the silence.  You’re in good shape physically for someone who’s not had much access to a gym.  He smiles, a playful smirk flashing white teeth, as if he’d expected me to say this.  But then wouldn’t Jesus do just that?

The alarm went off at this point; I’m unable to explore any further this weirdness of lying next to Christ on the floor in the nude.  Damn, just when it was getting interesting, too, talking intimately with the Son of God. 

What does it mean?  Will it be a long time before I dream again?  Will I pick up where I left off in this dream? Why this dream for me, a woman who’s not religious, who’s not a “good Catholic” any longer?

And sweet Jesus, of all words, why fecund?

11:53:13 AM    comment []

WARNING:  I’m back!!!

We made it back from the great white north, every little nook and cranny filled with beach sand and now spilling onto the floor and the trunk of the car.  It was restful, restorative, and draining at the same time – just what one expects of the last summer vacation.

Thanks to you who dropped in while I was away; you pushed my blog over 40,000 page reads.  Wish I could have been here to greet you on this occasion, but I’m sure you’d do the same in my position.  The lure of the road and wide open places was too great to ignore.

Back to work, back to school, and back to blogging! 

10:20:05 AM    comment []