What happens to me at night anyway?


Another terrifying dream that got me pacing, and up at 5:00 a.m.

Don and I were staying at a motel in the middle of nowhere. I hated our room since the lock on the door only worked sometimes. We would return to our room to find books and magazines left for us … both about very random subjects — from cleaning our latest bird-kill to influencing people. I was upset by the lock and by the odd gifts that greeted us upon our return, but I felt safe as I always do with Don. I was surprised, also, that he was getting along with our clearly strange neighbor in the room to the left and also that he was undisturbed by our door’s lock.

Someone keeps trying to pull me away from you. I kept saying this to Don, greatly fearing the man the room to our left and the general oddness of the neighborhood where our motel was situated. It was a small town that had that Lynchian feel of deep dark secrets. I didn’t like where I was, Don was adapting. He would not respond to my statements that I was scared and that scared me still more. But I felt safe b/c I was with Don. But I was truly scared. Terrified.

One day I caught the man who was staying next to us watching me in my room. I was attempting to fix my nylons with toupee tape. This man was very large, balding but not bald with a dirty golf shirt that had likely once been white but now had the look of a chalkboard, newly erased. The door was slightly ajar, but he was choosing to watch me through a small slit in the curtains. I shut the curtains, and I shut the door, attempting also to lock it and he walked in anyway, asking me if I wanted to see the show that was happening in his room. My sadness at suddenly being alone in my room (Don was just suddenly gone) and my curiosity about “the show” enticed me there.

There was a beautiful woman who looked dead in some moments and alive in others, hanging from the ceiling just above his bed like a burlesque dancer. Her costume was hot pink and lime green with lots of satiny fringe; even when she was not moving, she was. Then there was proof  she was alive when I detected her eating a chicken leg in a very amorous manner. The big bad man beamed with pride.

His smile terrified me. Plus Don looked to be completely gone and this was what terrified me enough to get me out of bed at 5:00 a.m. and pace, and write and write.

My psychic just reminded me of the Jungian Animus / Anima energy. My Animus seems to be working over time. This seems to be a warring she said, within me. And this explains my feeling so horrid all week till today, after this dream. As if the dream saved me from myself. My own damn mind and fears.

So much is on the horizon in the next what, 14 weeks … so many changes. And fear. Then, this warring.

I also think this dream has helped me in titling my newest chapbook … it shall be called Slit.

Published in: on April 17, 2009 at 5:44 pm  Leave a Comment