Dream a Little Dream

Sometimes I feel most like myself in my dreams. Strange, because in these dreams I am rarely myself.

The other night I dreamt of four different couples. I flitted in and out of all of their bodies. Male, female, all with a different set of desires and reactions. They went about their mundane, daily life and I felt the sun on their shoulders or the way their bodies folded as they lay on a couch. They were being slowly drawn together. In the evening the four couples went to an extravagant ball. I felt their hands clasped in hands, around wasits and shoulders, as they swirled around and around.

The day felt like silk. Not the shiny, satiny silk, but the dull, super soft stuff that feels a bit like marshmellows when you touch it. Too soft for its strength, the juxtoposition makes me shudder like nails on a chalkboard and yet I cannot release it. The ball felt like velvet. Soft. Warm. Inviting. Complete.

I dream in motion. Sometimes I dream in e-motion. Electronic impulses that jump from nerve to nerve. I feel the way they rush up to the precipice, then jump, or fall, or cling until they are shaken off. I feel them swirling in the abyss. Floating. Fast and slow, all at once. Speed is nothing when there is no end.

True, I feel it during the day, too. My tongue running up behind my teeth is a journey. But it is in my dreams that I have a complete surrender to the motion of life. It is then that I feel like I have come into my own, and I am whole.

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