Dance of joy before and after dreams

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Years ago I began having a recurring dream that I was away from home but not in any danger.  Usually I was alone but not always.   As it began to get dark, I started to return home.  Always I would eventually realize that it was impossible to get home before dark.  Sometimes home was a thousand miles aways.  Sometimes it was only a few blocks away, but there were insurmountable obstacles between me and home.  Unsettling as this was, I began to be philosophical and accept the truth.

A few nights ago that dream came to me again:

This time I was not all that far from home, just a few miles east of my home at the west end of Lake Whatcom, the 14-mile-long lake that is just a few minutes walk away. 

(A few afternoons ago, looking east from my porch towards Lake Whatcom and the mountains beyond)

 I was walking west in a counter-clockwise direction toward home.  After some time passed, I was surprised to see that the landscape no longer looked familiar.  It appeared that I was in Eastern Washington rather than Western Washington.  I love the landscape in Eastern Washington and although I was surprised, I wasn't disturbed.  Still, it was getting late in the day and I realized how far from home I was. 

Unlike what I had been seeing in Western Washington, I saw no trees anywhere.  I saw beautiful bare hills and blue sky.  Looking out on what I still considered to be Lake Whatcom, I wondered if there were a bridge ahead where I could cross and get back to Western Washington, which now was east of where I had walked.

 Ahead of me, a small resort appeared in the distance, set on a hillside.  There weren't many people there, but I felt sure that someone would be able to help me find my way home again.  Each person I spoke with was kind but unable to guide me back to Western Washington before dark.  

Once again I felt philosophical, accepting that I would not able to get home before night.  I seemed to be in a safe place with safe people.  As I walked down the hillside toward the lake, I saw a woman I didn't know who was walking up the hill.  As she approached, she smiled and said, "Hi Amanda."  

I was startled because I couldn't imagine how she could know my name and then I realized I was dreaming.

I knew I would wake up and be home.

*

Last night before I went to bed I found the video of the two people dancing.  It brought me joy.  My night was filled with dreams.  I slept much longer than usual.  The only dream I remember is the last one.  In that dream, it was night and I was in safe place with safe people when I was told that someone had come in the night looking for me and that she was out on the porch waiting to talk with me.  This is a person who shouldn't be driving at all, much less driving at night.  This is a person with compromised judgment due to early dementia.  This is a person I care about and feel concerned for but feel sadly inadequate in terms of being able to help her.  I knew I would have to gently and respectfully confront her about her driving and let her know once again that my ability to help her is limited.  

Coincidentally, she was once a dancer.  This is my vision for her:

*

Happy 101st Birthday, Lawrence Ferlinghetti! / "Let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late"

Little Boy, a novel by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

On the book jacket is a quote by Tom Waits:

"When I first came out to San Francisco and heard the name Ferlinghetti, I thought it must be a large geographic area.  Turns out, it is."

There is a quote by Bob Dylan, too:

"A brave man and a brave poet."

Ferlinghetti does not talk falsely at age 100.  The book begins:

"Little Boy was quite lost."

I read Little Boy twice before it was due and then because our public library is closed and does not want us to return our books until the COVID-19 situation changes for the better, I will keep it safe until then.

On my first reading, I was carried along through perilous ups and downs by the vitality of Ferlinghetti's voice playing with words in all seriousness, talking about the past, the present and the future and then I was stunned by the way the book ended.  The stream of consciousness reminded me very much of  To The Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf, and I naively expected to be taken to a similar conclusion.

On my second reading, I paid attention to the details that foreshadowed the ending.  There were warnings that I had missed or discounted. By the time I reached the last page, I saw the ending in a different light, a different context.  I saw a balance.  I saw everything about the novel in a different light, as the COVID-19 virus situation has changed everything.  I saw his book as the poetic novel it is rather than an autobiography.  Running through the book is a recurring dream:

     BUT I keep having the same dream over and over 
always the same with a disembodied me wandering
around some huge city which after a few dreams 
I recognize as Manhattan, yes, it's always Lower 
Manhattan and I'm always trying to get back 
somewhere uptown or just north of the city like Van
Cortlandt Park over toward the Hudson and it's getting
later all the time and there seem to be fewer and fewer
buses or taxis or people on the street as I keep walking
uptown through the gathering dusk hoping to come
across some subway station or bus stop or taxi stand
but I don't seem to be advancing anywhere as if I'm on
a moving treadmill always carrying me away as the
night keeps closing in on me far from some home place

In the last few weeks, my dreams have been vivid and perhaps it was my two readings of Little Boy that resulted in a breakthrough variation for me on a similar dream theme.  In my recurring dream, I am always alone walking home as the sun is setting.  Suddenly it occurs to me that home is so far away that I will never reach it before dark because it is a thousand miles away.  I become philosophical about this situation and then I wake up.  In the recent dream, the world is getting dark but I am no longer traveling alone.   Night comes.  I am traveling with a man my age.  He builds a small fire to keep us warm on the beach.  We are companions traveling together in peace.  I trust him.  He falls asleep first.  I am closer to the ocean.  We do not sleep side by side, but I don't feel rejected.  I need room of my own and he does, too.  I take my red comforter and place it over my pillow for extra cushioning.  I'm surprised by how warm and comfortable I feel sleeping outside on the sand.  I am home.  I sleep easily.

I'm grateful for Lawrence Ferlinghetti's brave book.

Although I'm not on Facebook, it is fortunate that one doesn't need to be on Facebook to see Ferlinghetti on his 101st birthday:

https://www.facebook.com/lawrenceferlinghettiofficial/videos/425537144660508/

Lawrence Ferlinghetti said, "Bravo for Dylan, Nobel Laureate!"