I had a dream this morning. Parts of it were clear, but the transition from scene to scene was missing, the effect being one of simply appearing elsewhere by magic. There were three basic scenes.
Third Party to Myself
In the first one, I was young and slim. I was at a party or gathering of some kind, outside a wooded home with terraced landscaping. I think it was near the ocean, for the air was thick as with warm salt billows of air. There were Japanese lanterns lit.
As the dream began, I was descending down the terraces as though they were giant stairs to the street level where I could leave. I am an introvert, and I had the feeling in the dream that I wanted to get away from the crowd, from the demands placed on me to interact with gusto. In this scene, I was not just in my body but alternately watching me descend. So the “I” was hard to locate, slippery, shifting.
As I was almost at the bottom of the yard, at street level, a man caught my eye in the periphery, and I certainly caught his eye. I’m not positive who the man was. I didn’t have a clear view of him, but something suggested that it was Wayne, my old alcoholic boyfriend.
Piece Goods Shop and Rose-Covered Fabric
Suddenly, he and I were in an old fashioned piece goods shop. There were some bolts of fabric on a shelf. I pulled one down that had a white background covered with a pattern of red roses. I told Wayne, “I’m going to buy this and make myself a new party dress.” Wayne always loved me in my dresses, so he approved of this plan. However, I was lying: I didn’t plan to make any dress, for I can’t sew and I knew this in the dream. I was deceiving him, telling him what he wanted to hear.
Funeral Procession, First Person, and Fake Weeping
Then the scene changed again. I was standing in a church with others. We were all facing the back of the sanctuary. It was a funeral. Men dressed in black were proceeding into the sanctuary, toward the altar. I never turned and looked at the altar. I looked at the men. They were in double-file. There was no casket, for I kept looking for it. The men all had their heads hung and were crying. I was in my own body now, and I hung my head and pretended to be sad and weep. I could see that I was wearing the rose-covered sundress that I didn’t and couldn’t make. In actuality, I was not sad at all and perhaps even secretly glad that I was getting away with some kind of deception in only seemingly blending in and doing what I was supposed to.
What the… .?
I’m flying to Tallahassee tomorrow for the funeral of my beloved brother-in-law of 44 years, Buck. He was a sensitive man, too sensitive to have endured intact the horrors he survived as a decorated Marine on the front lines of the Vietnam War. He was only 17 years old when he enlisted, and the only survivor in his platoon. His best friend died in his arms on the battle field.
Buck suffered since that time from post-traumatic stress disorder and depression. He had a bad stutter when he returned to the homeland. It improved over the years, unlike the depression.
Buck was always kind to me, since I was a child. I remember being on a boat at St. Teresa, Florida, and fishing for the first time. I caught my first fish, and we threw it in a bucket of sea water, with the other fish that others had caught. When I found out that these fish were slated for death, I started crying out of sympathy for the fish I had caught. I cannot remember who was with us, but I was thought silly for caring about that fish. Buck, however, was sensitive to my sensitivity. He released that fish back into the ocean for me. I will never forget this, nor the long walks and talks I had with Buck along the beach afterward, many times.
May the current and future children of this Earth be released, as was my fish, from the insanity of death and woundedness by war.
Buck had this funny habit of insisting that my sister Jill and I greet him with a peck on the lips. The cheek was insufficient offering. He was family, for 44 years. He was 68. It is hard to comprehend how fast he went (2 months of illness) and that he will not be there for holidays.
May Buck be released from all suffering and back into life, as was my fish by his hands.