Monday, March 28, 2011

The First Dream and the Second Dream

I have been skiing with my family, well for three days of it I was lying in bed sick, I'm still pretty shaky. But how could it be otherwise? A big project, a big imagining, a big creation, a birth, and then a rest, a let-down, a break. Considering what writing this play did to my body - the shakes, the sneezes (one night one hundred) the burning mouth, the frozen fingers, the aches and fears, aches as fears and fear releasing from muscles, thinking about the secrets, well, of course it was going to be hard for it to be over. I am thrilled to be relatively sane, not depressed, just a mom getting over a cold.

And I am sorry that this blog is such a selfish thing - no real effort for a narrative has been made for you my ten dear readers (although I think it's really eight dear readers, having somehow mistakenly followed my own blog twice). I thought it would all end with the play and I would go back to writing about Lego Star Wars.  But no.  I had two dreams.  

If you are bored go back to those dreams, I recount them in this blog. Go back to the dream I had of the flood on the Sunday before the tsunami. Go back to the man crying out in pain. Read those dreams sometime, because some time soon I am going to tell you what they mean. I know what they mean. I don't claim that they came from anywhere but my own head, from my own effort at insight, from my own courage to know myself. But I do claim their magnificence and truth.

The day the tsunami hit I freaked out because of the first dream. I mean, it's not every day that you have a powerful dream about the earth being engulfed in water and humans being attacked by nature itself and put it in a play and the day you submit the play to a theatre a tsunami hits.  That is not an every day thing by any stretch of the imagination.  So when I freaked I actually consulted a man about it.  A Christian! Hah! What a waste. He couldn't see a thing. Of course not. My own dream showed me that men just cannot see. 

So soon the posts about what the dreams mean.  No time now.

I do wonder what the difference is between trying to understand God and trying to understand yourself. They both take effort, patience, darkness, tears, courage. I feel as if all of mine has been rewarded.

The Rachel of my play says it perfectly:

I know plenty. The things I know there aren’t words for. Feelings and seeing the whole world as streams of light. I know. I know when I am close to God. Sometimes playing piano or listening to the Beethoven albums, and writing in my notebook, I feel it then. Then I don’t think there is anything else but God. But it doesn’t have anything to do with going to church or praying at all. It’s a mystery to me, but somehow having that feeling of being close to God is worth everything. Even if I don’t believe in him.

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