Day 6: Most Vivid Dream
The park bustled with the sounds of glee and wonderment. Children's voices excitedly intermingling with those of parents reliving their childhoods through their children's eyes. It's warm, it's always warm. The sun shines down from a cloudless sky, only the trees offer some cover. The trees are many and yet not enough to protect from the sun's glare, intense heat and indiscriminate touch.
I am one of those children. A little girl there for the thousandth time, holding her daddy's hand. It's the ape house where we start and plan to end. The baby orangutans are intriguing playmates through glass. Wiry hairs sprout from their heads and their small, inquisitive eyes ask wordless questions that I'm sure I can answer. Their hands, ugly, flat and leathery, palm the glass in search of an accidental space that might give way to real touch. Their mothers watch lazily, clear that the glass protects the babies from my human stench and laugh inwardly at the fear they know I have but that I have yet to be introduced to.
Without warning, the sun is no longer hanging center sky like a ballroom chandelier. An ominous darkness falls and fear becomes palatable, able to be touched and tasted and choked on. Something bad is going to happen. Something bad is always going to happen whenever the sun is put out and the sound of laughter is muted without warning. First it's on and then it's off.
I'm alone. My daddy's hand has slipped from my grip or mine from his and I'm alone. I spin like one of those music box ballerinas, slow and careful, in search of him. The strangers enjoying the park, which is a zoo, become more strange in the shared plate of fear that none of us ordered. And I can't find him. There's running. I am running and they are running but to what I don't know and they don't seem to either. Chaos. My daddy is nowhere to be found. The mute button is pressed and the strangers' voices are released but their sounds are separate from the calls for my father. Their voices are a backdrop to mine, like a music in the background the forewarns of bad things. It's redundant because that's already clear with the absence of the sun, the running and the screaming. And I'm alone when I shouldn't be because I'm a little girl.
Searching for my father at a zoo that's in a city park means there shouldn't be any cliffs but I ritualistically arrive at a ledge with no other choice but to fly. It's related to finding daddy, like if I don't take the leap and fly I'll never find him. I lean over and wake up shaken, shaking, and crying. Every time.
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It was difficult to choose which vivid dream to share. There's this 1 & the 1's where I can fly, well & no one else around me can. There's another 1 but they're only vivid in the very realness of the way I experience them and bring them out of my dream state with me. Unfortunately, the only thing that would make for a vivid description of those dreams is what I bring out of them. The dreams themselves would make for a pretty boring read. Maybe this 1 did too. My apologies.
Watch me move.
I am one of those children. A little girl there for the thousandth time, holding her daddy's hand. It's the ape house where we start and plan to end. The baby orangutans are intriguing playmates through glass. Wiry hairs sprout from their heads and their small, inquisitive eyes ask wordless questions that I'm sure I can answer. Their hands, ugly, flat and leathery, palm the glass in search of an accidental space that might give way to real touch. Their mothers watch lazily, clear that the glass protects the babies from my human stench and laugh inwardly at the fear they know I have but that I have yet to be introduced to.
Without warning, the sun is no longer hanging center sky like a ballroom chandelier. An ominous darkness falls and fear becomes palatable, able to be touched and tasted and choked on. Something bad is going to happen. Something bad is always going to happen whenever the sun is put out and the sound of laughter is muted without warning. First it's on and then it's off.
I'm alone. My daddy's hand has slipped from my grip or mine from his and I'm alone. I spin like one of those music box ballerinas, slow and careful, in search of him. The strangers enjoying the park, which is a zoo, become more strange in the shared plate of fear that none of us ordered. And I can't find him. There's running. I am running and they are running but to what I don't know and they don't seem to either. Chaos. My daddy is nowhere to be found. The mute button is pressed and the strangers' voices are released but their sounds are separate from the calls for my father. Their voices are a backdrop to mine, like a music in the background the forewarns of bad things. It's redundant because that's already clear with the absence of the sun, the running and the screaming. And I'm alone when I shouldn't be because I'm a little girl.
Searching for my father at a zoo that's in a city park means there shouldn't be any cliffs but I ritualistically arrive at a ledge with no other choice but to fly. It's related to finding daddy, like if I don't take the leap and fly I'll never find him. I lean over and wake up shaken, shaking, and crying. Every time.
****************************************************
It was difficult to choose which vivid dream to share. There's this 1 & the 1's where I can fly, well & no one else around me can. There's another 1 but they're only vivid in the very realness of the way I experience them and bring them out of my dream state with me. Unfortunately, the only thing that would make for a vivid description of those dreams is what I bring out of them. The dreams themselves would make for a pretty boring read. Maybe this 1 did too. My apologies.
Watch me move.
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