Dream Log Entry: 11.19.10 "Help From The No One"

This is the run-down of a two part dream from the other night. I fell asleep early, woke up in the middle of the night, and went back to sleep again...only to wind up in a continuation of the first dream.


Part I:

I could hear them. Lots of them. Hundreds maybe. I could see a crowd of people swarming around me like bees  united for one central cause - yet they almost seemed to be transparent. I felt like I could have reached out my hand to them, and it would have went straight through their bodies.  Did they really exist?

No matter. They were all pleading to me. Women, children, men, old and young all gathered around me. I was surrounded; the center of an endless circle of people. People who were vocalizing their problems, no less.

"I can't understand you when you're all speaking to me at once," I tried to reason with them.

The voices grew louder and louder. I wasn't hearing them with my ears. I noticed instead that I was hearing them in my mind. Every last one of them. Not only did the voices originate from the people surrounding me, they seemed to also stem from people in other places in the world.

My head was throbbing with congestion from the scattered noise. I tried to focus my mind intently enough to pluck only one random voice out.

"Please help us..." I managed to make out amid the static. The statement came from a sickly looking middle-aged man. I wanted to help them. All of them, in fact...but at the moment I felt powerless. There were just so damned many of them.

"But I'm no one... " I whispered back in response.

I cupped my hands over my eyes and shrank into myself, "And I don't know how... "

The voice came to me, saying: This is what it's like... but fear not, for your light's much brighter than you realize. 


I woke up.



Part II: 


I saw them again. The same crowd. This time, they were smiling as they swarmed around me. They seemed to all be holding items in their hands.

"This is for you," the same sickly man from before said to me as he handed me a bundle of onions, beans and other vegetables.

"Thank you," a small child said to me as she handed me a bowl of fruit.

"I can't accept this. I don't know what I did..." I was confused. I had been there in the prior dream, returned to my own reality upon waking, and then returned here....to the same people...the same setting... though, in a continuation of the story somehow.

"You helped us," one of them said.

"Give her time. She doesn't know yet..." another stated. He was an elderly man. Blind-looking.

"At least take these then..." the sickly man (who actually wasn't sickly looking anymore) said to me, as he handed me some beans held together in a bag that resembled a fishing net. "I think you might like them."

I stared at them. They looked familiar. Where had  I seen them before?  I immediately knew that they were magic beans the second he handed them to me. . . but what kind of magic did they do?

"Yes, I think I will take these. Thank you so much." I bowed my head to him and the rest of the crowd.

Enter the voice: It will come to you. . . Sow the first seed. 

I woke up. . . again.

My dreams make me wonder who I truly am beneath this Kim suit, deep down at the core...

- kj

The Heart's Heart-To-Heart - 11.08.10

I recognize the fact that you're ready to embrace the notion of love again. I even understand the burning desire for companionship, intimacy and meaningful displays of affection.

But let's not shower it on just any ol' body. Let's love someone who's deserving of it.

Be patient.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 11.07.10 "The Caterpillar's Secret"

Circumstance is a muthafuya with dreams, who struggles with the difficulty of executing them on account of the barricades of a reality that deadens them. Such is the nature of your fight/plight. There is great pain in becoming. . . 

These are the last words I recall upon waking. It was the voice again, trailing off into the distance of the subconscious realm.

I do not remember the details of last night's dream, save for the above. What I do know is that I arose feeling like a lab rat in a maze. I wondered what course life would ultimately take me on; wondered what it's all for. What would the outcome be?

Am I truly in control...or out of it?

I thought about all the hindrances I'd ever experienced, the deaths of loved ones who would've been a strong support system, and how it seemed as if the harder I fought, the more losses & blockages there were.

I reflected on how I've been traveling this long winding road (sun in tow) mate-less, at times car-less & penniless...at one point, a step away from homelessness...and how life has always seemed to continuously strip me bare of material entrapments at the very moment that I had finally gained/re-gained even the smallest semblance of "things" after reoccurring seasons of loss.

What is the point of it all? I can't help wondering now. I'd like to get a least a fraction of a fraction of a glimpse into the grand scheme that I am but a minuscule player in. I don't think it's unreasonable to ask that of the powers that be.

The voice's statement seems to imply the undergoing of some form of preparation in my case. But preparation for what?

I can attest to the pains of constant change first-hand. Growth, it seems, involves a series of deaths/re-births or destructive/re-constructive motions. A butterfly must die as a caterpillar before it is reborn as a butterfly. I must remind myself of that from time to time. For if it can do that, then surely I can submit to my own processing. Heck, since resistance is futile, it's as if I must anyway.

But the million dollar questions that plague me on days like today are.... What is it all for? What is the sum of this divine equation? And what exactly am I becoming?

I have been wondering lately if the answer to that last question is: not at all what I (or anyone else) thought I'd be... And the uncertainty and twinge of doubt therein is a formidable thing to bout with.


Wonder if the first caterpillar was privy to the end of its story when it instinctively wrapped itself inside a cocoon for metamorphosis and came out as something else.

What were its thoughts while in the chrysalis stage? Were they similar to my own, now that I'm in hermit mode? What secrets did it tell the others about its experience?

Did it ever question Mother Nature or undergo the process with a mis-perception of what it was to be because no one told it otherwise? Did it go willingly? Or was it just forced to change?


Some have said in the past, that I should stop thinking so much about it all and just go with the flow. Have faith and tread blindly, they mean. How many of them actually follow that advice when they find themselves faced with unknowns and fork-in-road moments though? Ebb/flow is a cliche' in conscious circles that is hard to embody. So, it is human nature to wonder. Or perhaps, just mine. For, I always have.

Always questioned. Always dug much deeper than I should.  Always held my tongue or safeguarded that side of myself from people who would never understand the extent of my pondering. Always gone to great lengths to tone it down in order to achieve some sense of normalcy. Always looked into a person's eyes and saw far more than what they projected outwardly.  Always looked into the midnight sky and wondered if there were beings on other planets staring at their own midnight skies wondering the same things as me.

I was created curious. I can remember being so since as far back as my oldest memory of myself. It all has to be for a reason. Maybe the caterpillar knows.

Confound that voice.






- kj

Pillow Scream - 11.05.10

At 5:10pm my Microsoft Office, Oracle, other miscellaneous web-based company applications and hell...generally every program that I needed to conclude my day crashed on me. I threw my hands up in agony and disgust, grabbed my purse, locked my file cabinet, and left. Tasks unfinished.

Detoured to the grocery store on the way home.  I was all smiles since the check-out lines looked pretty clear going in. That excitement proved to be premature. I gathered the 8 items I needed and headed for the lines, only to find all of them magically full.

Where in grocery shopping hell did those extra people come from?  I paced for a moment, until I found the shortest route. Lucky # 7. . . Or so I thought. 

Sweet little old black lady who looked not a day over 95 is in line #7. The cashier is nearly done ringing up her items. Grandma digs in her purse - preparing to pay, I assumed. Wrong again. She whips out like 500 coupons and sifts through them with maddening slowness.

Indian guy behind me utters something in his native language that I'm pretty sure translated into: Oh, HELL naw!!! and abruptly sits his hand-held basket of items on the floor, leaves the line, and exits the store.

I should have followed suit. . . but I wanted --- no needed ---- my crab spinach dip, granola bars, assortment of fruit, berry punch, etc. I'll be damned if I made this trip for nothing. So, I remain a trooper. I wait patiently...fuming inside though. Patience is not my strong suit. At least not when waiting or lines are involved.

She's still sifting through coupons and handing select ones to the cashier while I watch with great sadness as the other lanes move steadily and their numbers dwindle. 5 minutes later, she pays.

Finally!

Premature again.

She shows the cashier the receipt and asks about toilet tissue and turkeys. Neither of which are in either of the two baskets of excessive crap that she has her grandson (presumably) guarding at the edge of the lane. I want to leave the line, but my curiosity overpowered my impatience at that point. I couldn't move. I was in shock.

She tells the cashier... "Well, I want to go and pick up one of those turkeys. I want to buy one."

The cashier (a young high school aged sista) tries to maintain her composure, though she's clearly frustrated too, I can't imagine how long this elder had been checking out prior to me walking up. "Okay, I understand. I can have one of the baggers get one for you, but maam, I need to ring up the rest of these people. You'll have to get back in the line", she told her politely.

The elder snapped back, "Well hell...that's okay then. I don't really want it no how. It ain't even Thanksgiving yet..." and with that, she snatches the receipt, slings the basket around, signals to her grandson, and exits the store.

At last, it's my turn.

10 minutes later, I'm home. I turn the key to the front door, the lock clicks smoothly, and I turn the handle. Fail.

The sun took the liberty of locking the top lock - despite me telling him 1,000 times not to ever do that prior to me getting home. I bang on the door for about 5 minutes straight........ Nothing. Freaking great. He's sleep. I just know it. 


He was. 

I can hear Sir Fredrick barking "Wake up, fool. You better get up and let her in or she's gonna be pissed..." in chihuahua language. Smart dog. I sat on the steps and tried not to blow a gasket. Breathe in. Breathe out.

20 minutes later.... 

I get up, descend the stairs, go around to the sun's bedroom window, toss a small rock at it hoping to get his attention... the rock cracks the window. Perfect.

I go back to the stairs, ascend them again, bang on the front door -- as loudly as the police would, putting my knuckles into it.

This time, he opens the door. His eyes, red from deep slumber. Mine, red with fury.

I was too defeated to be angry though. I put up the groceries, took a shower, grabbed my sushi, closed my door, looked at the ceiling (symbolic of the sky), shook my head, picked up my laptop...and started typing. Otherwise, I'da killed somebody.

Friday night insanity.

Pillow scream.

- kj