Tag Archives: Dreams

Entrapment

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Entrapment

The city lights are tempting–each theater and store,
but when my outer life is rich, my inner life’s a bore.
Do I want to create my life or should it create me?
And which is which?  I do not know. Which helps me most to be?
I guess I need a balance, but each choice is a trap.
While I think it over, perhaps I’ll have a nap.
Sometimes the truth is found in dreams. Perhaps that will work now.
But once the “what” occurs to me, I’ll have to dream the “how.”
I dream empty buildings and abandoned avenues,
stores filled with pretty dresses, refrigerators, shoes.
Wind through broken windows and grass through broken walks.
All those empty radios where no one ever talks.
While somewhere in the country, away from smog and fumes
those busy cities of the past are sealed away in rooms
writing morning pages and playing with their dogs,
recording things they used to do in their daily blogs.
If I don’t join the city, if I choose to be free,
perhaps the busy city will choose to come join me!

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https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/city/

Dream World: The Dream That Changed My Entire Life

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I have written about dreams so frequently over the past four years, that in place of once again writing about them, I’m going to give you two links. Here is my very favorite dream photo  https://judydykstrabrown.com/2014/10/10/dreamy/ (and under the photo on that link, there is another link to my very favorite dream—one that literally changed my entire life.

 

 

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fairytale/

Lulu and Annie

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Lulu and Annie

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I dreamed last night that I woke up and my cat was on my chest.  I was surprised because she won’t come any farther than the wall to be fed since Morrie, my third dog, came to stay.  My first cat, Lulu, moved out and in with the neighbors when I got my second dog.  At any rate, I petted my cat, so glad to see her but wondering how she got into the house.  Then suddenly another cat  jumped up on the bed .  I saw that it was Annie, my youngest cat.  So who was the other one??? I opened my eyes to see it was Lulu who had come back to visit.  I was so happy to have them both together again and we lay there (in the dream) for a long time.  When I woke up I was still pleased that I’d seen Lulu after all these years, then realized it was a dream.

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Both of the girls displayed an interest in my work, although Annie had a bit more of a technological bent.

daily life color113 (1)One day, I caught Lulu giving Annie climbing lessons.  Here she is between the glass and the screen, so there was little danger of falling, but some danger of not being able to extricate herself.

daily life color112For advanced lessons in climbing, they moved to the pistachio tree. Yes.  You can believe your eyes. Lulu does have one green eye and one blue one.

Last night when I was out to dinner I ran into Lulu’s “new” parents who told me she’d been very ill and asked me how old she was.  They were surprised to discover that she’ll be 15 years old in a few months.  They thought she was much younger.  But, alas, they told me she has been very very ill and has not been eating which never happens with her. I am afraid to call to see if she passed in the night and came to visit me one last time.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/worst-case-scenario/

3:08 AM (On the Night of the Blood Moon Eclipse)

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IMG_56513:08 A.M.
(On the Night of the Blood Moon)

A donkey’s bray saws through my dream,
opening sleep’s creaking door.
Three hours slumber is not enough.
I float the night in search of more.

Like a porthole letting in the day,
night’s shadow cusps the bloated moon.
Its light invades my stubborn dream.
I am awakened too soon, too soon.

A message honed on the strop of night
slices through my dream’s light gown.
My mind’s eye heavy with lost sleep
sees truth disrobed and writes it down.

When waking we feel taught by dreams,
it may not be as it appears.
Who knows what sophistries have been
whispered in unwary ears?

IMG_5663Skype conversation on the night of the Blood Moon Eclipse, 9/28/15

[1AM] Judy: Isn’t it weird how in my photograph, the clouds seemed to form a moon shape around the moon?

[1:01 AM] okcforgottenman: OK here’s my prompt for tomorrow, “She cusped the bloated moon.”

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Recycled Dream

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Recycled Dream

I can see only one person presently reading my blog (Hi, Angloswiss) who read this when I posted it two years ago, so I am going to give a link to it here. It is one of 4 or 5 posts I’ve made on the subject of dreams and not the one I was looking for, but interesting to me because I don’t remember either the dream or having written this piece, so I imagine even if you read it way back then perhaps you have forgotten it, too.  HERE is the link.

The one I was looking for was a precognitive dream I had where two incidents in a row were foretold.  I know I’ve written about it but can’t find it on my blog or on any storage drives or my present computer, so the next time this prompt cycles around, I will write about it.  For now, here is another dream you might have some interest in.  Look above for the link.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).”

Night Journies

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Night Journeys

All night long I follow scripts written by some hand
perhaps belonging to a self that consciousness has banned.

Fresh from dreams, I feel released from tasks committed to,
and then remember other jobs that I’m obliged to do.

Who knows if dreams are showing us those things we could have done–
those things we have forgotten with the dawning of the sun.

If only I remembered that world that fades away,
perhaps I’d face a very different sort of day.

Instead, I slip into the role my life has led me to,
like forcing naked feet into a more confining shoe.

And I wonder if the dreams I dream in dreams reveal even more
of potential lives where I live closer to my core.

Perhaps these stories I concoct, labeling them as lore,
are simply other lives I live on this lower floor

I descend to in my dreams, where I go to ponder
all those other me’s whose gifts I have chosen to squander.

Could it be in death that I am freed to find a goal
in the bargain basement of the building of my soul–

to find another path where I may once more start a quest
towards a self just one step closer to my very best?

Written for this daily prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/always-something-there-to-remind-me/

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back when we were baby birds

feeding each other
cold spaghetti worms
in grass clipping nests
empty summer stretched in front of us

stale plastic wading pools
pressing yellow circles
into grass
that smelled like wet bandaids

during a game of hide-and-seek
dust bunnies behind the chest
full of old prom dresses
in the upstairs hall

mouse droppings
in the basement
pits from sour cherries
scattered on the back steps

scraps of soggy paper
dried into small sculptures
under the weeping willow tree
revealing part of each original message

mommy is . . .
. . . ate my cookie
I hope Sharon . . .
my doll doesn’t . . . your doll . . .

summer just an empty cup
we filled each day
with the long summer rains
of daydreams.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In the Summertime.” What has been the highlight of your Spring or Summer?

To see my other post today, go HERE.

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The Window

opens onto an empty lot.
Guamuchil trees and wild castor beans
rise from its slope to lift toward
where I sit above, hands engaged
in taking me away to a place
far beyond ideas.
It is that destination dreams only point us to–
that place where, perhaps, I’ll float
after the feared moment
when I’ll leave this world for good.

I dread it so, that zone,
and yet if what my fingers have just told is right,
it’s where I choose to go again and again,
escaping to that little house
down in my garden
where I keep my tools and paint
and ten thousand small objects
all of which have a particular place they want to be fastened.

I am just here to help them go where they want to go.
Where they have, perhaps, been created to go–
taking me with them to the zone,

all of us
headed toward
the inevitable.

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“The little house” is my studio, here seen from the garden. The earlier view was of the wild lot next door, seen from the window of my studio.

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A message from the zone. Click to enlarge, then hover over objects and click again to see more detail..

The Prompt: Tell us about your favorite way to get lost in a simple activity — running, chopping vegetables, folding laundry, whatever. What’s it like when you’re in  “The Zone?”

Ollie Ollie Oxen: NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 18

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The NaPoWriMo Prompt: write a poem that involves an urgent journey and an important message. The WordPress Prompt: Karma Chameleon–let’s pretend that science has proven that karma is a thing. Your words and actions will influence what happens to you in the future. How (if at all) will you change your ways?

Ollie Ollie Oxen

Dreams are the playground of the day.
It is time to take that avoided journey
that sends me out
in pursuit of myself,
then gives me morning
to come in free.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/karma-chameleon-2/

NaPoWriMo 2015, DAY 14: The Holy Apewoman of Mexico

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The Prompt: Write a poem that takes the form of a dialogue. My dialogue takes place between my 7 year old self and my 67 year old self who, ironically, is writing this in Mexico.


Childhood Dreams

7
The mysteries
of Grandma’s barn
and basement–
whole lost worlds down there.
Our own attic–that door held down
by a gravity never challenged.

I wanted to see
the hanging gardens of Babylon,
Mexico and Africa–
all these places from books,
their pieces jumbled together
like puzzle pieces
in the deep recesses of my closet,
scattered,
but ready for assembly
some day
when I would
make my future memories
happen.

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I crouch with myself at seven–
sharing imagined dangers
in deep closets,
trying to conjure the world.
So many small town stories
overlooked
while I dreamed of living
in those fairy tale places
of Bible stories
that stood on a shelf
sandwiched between
the Bobbsey Twins
and Tarzan.

Some of us spend our lives
trying to be like books,
then spend our old age
trying to remember childhood,
mainly remembering
childhood’s dreams.

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