Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Dreams, borrowed poetry

I keep dreaming about zombies eating my brain, or other sorts of B-horror monsters sneaking up on me and terrifying me. I've been waking up in a dead panic, heart racing. Usually, I can tell pretty quickly what my dreams are about, or if they are just random neural firings. These do not have the feel of random neural firings. I think there's a message here, but I can't see it. Which means I get to sit with it, stir this cauldron of images and memories, and hope that the meaning percolates to the surface.

Seemingly (but not really) unrelated, part of Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese:"


You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

6 comments:

Green Weaver said...

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.

squirrel said...

Yes - quite so.

Meanwhile, more dreams. More zombies. Images of accommodating people I should be fighting or avoiding. Assailants. Draco Malfoy. It is very, very odd for me not to understand my nocturnal picture shows.

BTW, I just remembered, I had a roller derby dream, like, 5 years ago! I should find it in my journal. Prescient, eh?

Massagem said...

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NoRegrets said...

Oh, that's nice.

NoRegrets said...

The poem. Not the hug in the comment before. :-)

squirrel said...

Yes, I like it too. (Poem fragment, that is.)

Welcome back, BTW. I was going to leave a horribly obnoxious comment on your blog about vacations and crabs, but I thought better of it. :) So I'll just leave it at welcome back.