Dreamscape Prologue

When dreaming I live;
Waking I merely exist.

It is not rational,
But it is human:
We tell stories,
We daydream,
We sleep.

There are few things our body needs so badly it forces them upon us:
      The heart will pump without our bidding;
      The lungs will gasp for air even when none is present;
      And should we become too exhausted,
      The body will fall asleep—
      We are powerless to prevent it.

If we do not dream, we go mad.
Our dreams bind us together,
They give us purpose.
Only by dreaming can we build the future.

So do not be surprised that I spend too much time in dreams.
The stories,
The plans,
The night-visions,
These are what shape me.
These are what make the waking hours bearable.

Dreamscape I

A house with a view:
A back porch with lots of windows above the hill;
A kitchen darkly paneled;
Stairs.
It was beautiful.
It was months after we moved there
Before I recognized the house.

Dreamscape II

The first time I was dead
Was after the stars had fallen.
The truck in the woods by the picnic table
Would not start
So we pumped the clutch
And rolled toward home,
Fleeing the falling firmament.

I looked down upon the apocalypse.
They were gathered in a large building,
A school? An auditorium?
There was a piano,
I think I had played it while alive.

They were in danger,
But I was safe now.
Oh, Lord, how long?

Dreamscape III

I was searching
For someone I did not even like.

There had been an accident;
He was hurt.
I worried about him.
I could not find him.

When he really did have his accident
It was minor
And caused by his own stupidity.
By then I did miss him,
But I think he was already lost.

Dreamscape IV

The first time I was to marry
I was terrified.
I could not remember anything—
About myself,
Or about him.
He stood there, dressed in white,
With a black belt
(His fashion sense left much to be desired).
I could see him except
I could not see his face—
It was a blur.
What had led me to this moment?
Who was this?
Who was I?
I had to get out of there!
I had to escape!

Dreamscape V

Several of us gathered in an open space,
Listening to the storyteller.
As he spoke I could see the story
(It was a gift they had),
Birds running, chasing—
A children's story?
An ancient legend of his people?

Then the others were gone,
There was the storyteller
And one other from his planet.
The other offered me a ring.
I looked questioningly at the storyteller
Who explained it was a challenge:
The Ritual, a stylized fight.
I took my school ring off and we traded.
Behind me were risers, upon which were weapons.
The other took the imposing jeweled sword,
Leaving me with one that looked like an over-sized table knife.

We began fighting.
I blocked with my arms,
Realizing if this were actual battle
My arms would have been sliced off.
He started telling about his trickster friend,
As he told me I could see the scene playing behind him.
He was climbing a ladder, when his friend challenged him.
Because of the rules of the Ritual,
His friend had to let him climb down first,
So he was not at such a disadvantage.
Of course the story was to distract me,
To disadvantage me.

Somehow I managed to pin him to the risers,
With my giant knife held to his throat.
He complimented me on my skill.
I knew I had no skill
His compliment was another trick,
To make me think I had won,
So I would lower my guard and he could regain the upper hand.

I pressed the knife more firmly to his neck,
I made him drop his sword.
He let go with difficulty,
As though he tried to hold on
While an invisible hand tugged it away.

Once disarmed
He leaned toward me,
Into my ear he whispered something in an alien language,
      What did it mean?
      “Honor”?
      Or was it my name?
Then he kissed me on the temple,
Totally disarming me.

Dreamscape VI

I sat across from a fictional character,
Who told me I would die in the morning.
I awoke,
The pain was back;
I was afraid to sleep.
How should I prepare were I to die?
What would I leave behind?
I did not have much,
But such as I had I gathered.
I stayed up all that night:
Collecting what I had written,
Putting it in order,
Typing what had existed only in my illegible scrawl.
When morning came I did not die.
That night's work formed the core of all that has followed.

Dreamscape VII

I drove around the empty spaces of the west
Lost, confused.
It was evening,
The sun was setting in the north.
The world was turned around,
Spinning on the wrong axis.
What had caused it?
Had we somehow done this to ourselves?
Was it a natural event?
A terrible mistake?
An attack?

We raced back across the flat land,
Starfleet officers on horseback,
A rickety old place to stop and rest.

In the city,
Everyone blamed the aliens.
They could not be trusted!
They had brought this apocalypse upon us—
It could not be a coincidence!
There were some who doubted,
Who suggested alternate theories.
People from my church recruited me,
We met, perhaps secretly,
Only a few, but more than I expected.
We discovered
They were not aliens—
They were of this earth, just as we were.
Their DNA proved their pedigree,
They were plants,
Somehow become intelligent.

We were destroying ourselves,
But the same accident that endangered us all,
Also brought them into being.
They were our only hope.

Dreamscape VIII

My friend,
At the end of the day,
At the edge of the city,
We danced.
(I have never danced awake.)
We held each others' hands
And danced in a circle.
Round and round we went.
The one you loved and hated stood watching,
Rejoicing in the dance.

We did not say a word,
We did not draw close,
But we understood.
Things must be as they must be:
They must be painful for us all;
They must be filled with joy.

We understood,
And we wept.

Dreamscape IX

What a complicated plot!
Spies and smuggled information!
Characters from television!
Strangest of all, an old professor I never actually studied with.

We traveled on a highway that looped around and around,
It was not quite finished—
Rebar stretched out over the abyss.

A water tower, I think, loomed above.
And angels were watching,
Angels were assisting.

The extraterrestrials must have been there, too.
The whole weird population of my dreams
All together for once!
All in service of right.

Dreamscape X

The second time I was to marry
I snuck off the night before,
When tradition says the couple must not see each other.
I drove south of town
To where he lived in a tiny house in the country.
(I had not lived here long,
I did not know the region,
I did not even know if there was any place that far south of town
Before the land ended and the gulf began.)
I slept in the small porch-like room at the end of the house;
There was not enough room in the small bed.

As we gathered at the church,
I had my luggage packed,
I looked for a place to stash it during the ceremony.
My two best friends came to greet me,
I started to ask if they would watch my luggage,
Then I realized what I was saying—
They were exactly the reason I needed to hide my luggage!
For if you friends don't pull practical jokes on you,
Who will?

Years later I was looking for a house.
There was a miniscule cracker house south of town,
Right on the river, near the coast.
(I learned the region rather well that summer while house-hunting.)
This certainly was not the kind of place I wanted to live.
The back room, a converted porch,
Was used as a living and dining room.
It was the only air conditioned room,
And it was a very hot and dry summer—
So the black plastic couch served as a small bed.
It seemed frighteningly familiar.
Especially frightening because, at the time,
Some misogynistic biker was renting the place.

Dreamscape XI

In my childhood
We lived between the river and the lake,
Near the canal that connected them.
Down the street,
Over the canal,
Was a drawbridge that haunted my dreams.
Another, higher drawbridge
Crossed a little further away.

Countless times
We would drive across one or the other bridge.
Countless times
The drawbridge would open,
And we went off into the abyss.
Awake I hated crossing those bridges;
Asleep I was terrified.

After we had moved away
I heard on the news about the larger bridge—
The middle section went up with cars on it.
It was the type where the whole thing went straight up,
It didn't tip or tilt.
So nobody was hurt,
Though one car was caught on the edge and fell a little.

Years later, I dreamt of driving home,
Traveling down interstates and highways.
(Or was I driving away from home?)
The highways twisted and turned,
Went around in circles and split and merged.
I drove fast, faster, too fast,
And there was a bridge,
A drawbridge,
It opened, and I drove off—
And landed on the other side,
And kept driving.
Then another bridge which opened,
And another.
Each one I drove across,
Leaping and soaring,
Never falling.

Dreamscape XII

It was a dream that awakened me.
It was a sleepless night that started me dreaming.

You and I stayed up all night talking.
A night with no sleep,
No dreams—
Yet a night full of dreams,
Or perhaps nightmares,
As we discussed the uncertain future.

I snuck home and tried not to wake my parents,
Lest they question where I had been all night.
How could I explain?
We sat at that table and talked and listened,
Unaware of the passage of time.

The next morning a friend called and woke me,
Asked how long I had stayed over there,
Asked just what you and I had been doing that late.
I was angry at the insinuation. . .
Yet strangely pleased by it.

I had always liked you,
Though you seemed to avoid me,
Or so I thought.
Now I wasn't too sure of anything.

I left town, went home,
Did not know when I would see you again.
I did call, and we kept talking.
Strange how we did not become acquainted
Until I had moved away.

Not much later I dreamt I was in church,
The place was full.
You and another sat behind me,
An estranged friend accidentally sat next to me.
After the service everyone else was gone,
I leaned back to talk to you,
You leaned forward to talk to me.
We both propped our elbows on the back of the pew,
We talked, we gestured.
Our arms accidentally brushed each other.
My instinct was to draw back,
Just as I always flinch from human contact.
Yet I did not wish to insult you—
I did not want to react as though I was offended
At what was merely an accident,
And perfectly innocent.
So I suppressed my instinct,
We kept talking.
Our arms brushed again.
Then you folded your hand around mine.
I completed the gesture.
We kept talking as though nothing unusual happened.
Yet we did lean closer to each other.

I awoke, and have not stopped dreaming.

I suppose it was two years later,
We sat next to each other,
Our elbows resting on the divider between.
You were showing me pictures,
You handed me a picture,
Leaning your right arm left,
      Toward me.
I reached for the photograph,
Leaning my left arm right,
      Toward you.
I could feel the hairs from your arm brush against me.
As I took the proffered picture
And you reached for the next one,
Our arms leaned apart.
But with each new photograph,
Our arms touched so lightly.
We kept talking, as though there was nothing unusual.
Then there were no more pictures.
The moment was over.
Another dream only partly come true.

Dreamscape XIII

I often dream of dad.
They are never vivid dreams,
Never ones with any meaning that I can find.
But he is always alive.
These dreams are often set in the past:
I am younger and he is alive.
Sometimes he is sick,
And I know he will die,
But he hasn't died yet.

I would like some dream that reassures me,
One of those dreams people say they have,
Where they hear from the one who is gone.
I would like some reassuring dream,
Though my mind says there is no proof in dreams,
Dreams are just our neurons firing,
Triggering old memories.
I would like some reassuring dream,
Though my spirit says it is sacrilege to consort with ghosts.

I would like to dream of my father now,
I would like him to tell me that he is all right,
That he still loves me,
That he is still proud of me.
I would like him to tell me that I was right,
That the God I serve loves him as much as I do.
I would like him to tell me that even though his life was difficult
He has now found rest for his weary soul.

But I'll take the dreams I get,
The dreams where dad is still alive,
Where life was difficult, but at least it was life.
I'll take these dreams,
Because I miss my dad,
And the dreams are the only way I can see him again.

Dreamscape XIV

I had no idea what I was doing,
But I had to try.
I had to act confident and somehow pull it off.
I went through the halls
Spouting passwords,
Issuing orders—
Hoping I could get through security,
Hoping I could get the launch sequence started before I was found out.

By the time I was discovered
The countdown had begun,
It was too late to stop.
However, considering the emergency,
Our plan was approved.

War was imminent:
Nuclear weapons were on alert.
We had to get the shuttle in orbit—
We had to launch the ark.
I could have been on that flight,
But it would not have been practical.
We had selected healthy, young couples who could,
If necessary,
Repopulate the earth.

The shuttle was launched;
Like those of us remaining,
Its passengers had to wait. . .
Wait until the crisis was resolved
One way or another.
I had another trip to make—
I had to find my friend.
I did not want to wait alone;
I did not want to die alone.

Dreamscape XV

It was an honest mistake!
Anybody could have done it—
At least anybody from earth.
When NASA discovered the orange in earth orbit,
They thought it was, well,
An orange.
After all, it was round,
And the correct shape and size,
And the color was, of course,
Orange.

I'm not entirely sure of the facts,
Whether it was the astronaut who discovered it,
Or some administrator after it was returned
(Returned?)
To earth.
But someone took a bite—
It reportedly was quite juicy.
Unfortunately, though,
This innocent action killed the ambassador,
The representative sent to earth,
The envoy from the planet
Of intelligent oranges.

The oranges, naturally,
Were rather offended by this hostile action.
So we now were preparing a delegation to visit their planet,
To make a formal apology,
To try to establish normal relations
Lest they attack.

Considering how rudely we had murdered their ambassador,
They were quite gracious.
They welcomed our delegation,
They accepted our apology.
It was so strange seeing their world.
There were crowds of oranges,
Normal looking oranges,
Except they could move somehow.
They weren't giant oranges,
Or oranges with legs and arms.
They looked exactly like ordinary oranges.
They somehow could communicate,
Telepathically I suppose.

Dreamscape XVIII

We were traveling,
Visiting someone,
Cots were set up in a spare room.
(I have thought much of traveling lately.)

Several of us were there, talking.
I was reading about some espionage case,
Perhaps it had occurred long ago,
Perhaps it was recent news,
I don't recall and it doesn't matter.
It involved secret messages which had been deciphered,
Secrets no longer.
I looked at reproductions,
Pieces of paper,
Small packets
With nonsensical sentences,
Bits of code.

One of the packets I read
Had words repeated.
(Apparently the number of repetitions meant something.)
It had a catchy rhythm.
Some of the words meant something to me,
Though what they meant in code I had no idea.
Most of the words were just nonsense.
A singer was mentioned, perhaps that's where I got the idea.

I commented how it might be interesting
To set the text to music.
I started reading it aloud.
It was quite catchy.
He came over to where I was sitting on a cot,
He tried to look at the packet,
He bent down low,
His face was close to mine—
Too close.
He could read the packet now as well as I,
Except he wasn't looking at it—
He was looking at me.
His lips were pursed in thought,
Or for some other purpose.

This seems so new yet so familiar.
Did I mention he was too close?
That same instinct I fought off years before came back,
I wanted to lean away,
Put some distance between us.
But this time I fought that instinct—
Not to be polite,
But because it was overruled by my desire.

I turned to look him in the eyes,
And that mysterious quantum effect took place,
Where one state was instantly changed to another.
I've never understood how humans,
How anyone,
Could close that gap that separates us from each other.
Here I've always imagined Zeno applied;
Here I've always thought each step closer would never be close enough.
How does one. . .
No, how do two,
Go from hesitancy to surety
Without prolonged discussion and negotiation?
How can they communicate so much with just a glance?
I never thought I could crack this code,
Uncover these secrets.
A word here or there might sound familiar,
But I could not know the proper context.
Most of it has always seemed nonsense to me.

The kiss itself was rather prim,
Quick, staccato,
Perhaps like old friends greeting each other.
At least nobody else in the room would have suspected anything.
They might think it unusual for us,
But there was nothing sensual enough to rouse suspicion.
No, it was not the contact of the lips that mattered—
It was the contact of the eyes.

He sat down next to me,
We never broke eye contact.
We were exchanging secret code;
We were negotiating the next quantuum event.

Damn dreams!
It is clear enough when I'm awake
That no matter how often I look him in the eyes
He won't return my gaze.
He certainly will never disturb me with his proximity.
I certainly will never quell my instinct to turn away.

Dreamscape XVI

The second time I was dead
I have no idea how I died,
I could not recall it.
In fact, I could recall nothing about how I had lived.
It was irrelevant.

I was in a beautiful chamber,
Attendants were preparing me.
My name was engraved on a small cross,
Along with all the information from my life which was relevant:
A symbol denoting my baptism,
Symbols for times I had partaken of the Eucharist.
My name, the sacraments, and nought else.
This was pressed into my forehead,
And the impression left was nothing but a few dots,
For I was given a new name.
Neither my former name
Nor even the sacraments
Were relevant any more.
Nothing of the former age mattered.
The last things that mattered,
Mattered only in that they prepared the way for this age.

Now all that mattered was the bride and the lamb;
The church and her Lord.
Now the attendants withdrew,
And she was left to meet her Lord face to face.

Dreamscape XVII

I decided to do something quite out of character,
Something I am not really suited for.
I decided, with little time to consider it,
To begin a two year course of study,
Which might or might not lead to a military career.

(From a story,
A shared dream,
Comes a phrase:
I was born warrior caste,
But the calling of my heart. . .
Ah, what is the calling of my heart?
I suppose that is the problem.)

I waited to ask someone the questions I needed to ask,
But he ignored me.
He kept telling war stories to his friend,
The man in line ahead of me.
He did not notice me standing there.
As I stood waiting,
    waiting,
I thought perhaps I should speak up,
Get his attention.
Maybe I should go on to class,
Straighten out the registration later.
Best might be to abandon this crazy notion.
To do something,
    anything,
Would be better than waiting,
Accomplishing nothing,
Letting life pass me by.

Another appeared, I asked her.
She insulted me,
Questioned my ability.
I convinced her of my plan,
She now, to help me,
Replied with nonsense.
(There's a catalog on a shelf somewhere. . .
Vague generalities,
Sounding important,
Meaning nothing.)

I was about to walk off in frustration,
But I was still unsure what to do.
I awoke frustrated at my nature—
My indecisive, procrastinating,
Timid and insecure nature.

I want to do something uncharacteristic,
Something which those who know me best would not believe.
I have been waiting,
    waiting,
Too many years now.
I have been waiting for you to notice me,
But you have no idea, do you?
You tell your sad stories to your friend—
And I listen sympathetically.
But you haven't noticed that behind your friend,
Is a woman who grows increasingly less patient.

Should I speak up?
Should I rudely insist upon your attention?
Should I pursue crazy plans?
Should I get on with my life:
A life without you in it,
A life more suited to my nature—
A life without anyone in it.

Perhaps I should turn to another for advice.
A foolish woman who either laughs at me,
Or spouts nonsense.
No, the one thing I am sure of,
I must find the answer myself.

When I first woke from the dream,
The thing that frustrated me most was that I said nothing.
But I am still too afraid.
I suppose someday I will have to tell you,
But not just yet.

Dreamscape Epilogue

When dreaming I live,
And sometimes die.
But death only matters in the waking world.
Waking is death.

When dreaming I live,
When awake I escape to dreams,
Creating new dreams in my mind.
I rewrite conversations,
Change events,
Rework all the disappointing realities
Into what I wish they were.
Sometimes I dream nightmares, too,
Worrying about what might occur,
Painting reality much worse than it already is.

When dreaming I live,
When reading, watching stories,
I absorb them as part of my being,
I learn what little I know of true life from fiction.

When dreaming I live,
Imagining alternate realities,
Other lives,
Occasionally writing down parts of these dreams.

When dreaming I live;
I am shaped by dreams.
Here I have written of the dreams that most shaped me,
Though there are a thousand others whose mark I bear.
There is no good way to tell a dream.
They are too visual to express in speech;
Too non-linear to tell as a story.
They are difficult to recall,
And seem to shift when you look at them.
Only the most vivid remain,
And these often make no sense.

But I must tell what I can of them—
If there is anything I might have to give the waking world,
It is my dreams.