dreams: September 12, 1999
John and I are in a foreign country together. We're in a hotel room. It has a beautiful view of the forest. I'm lying in bed. Suddenly there's a quick knock on the door, and 2 or 3 people come barging into our room. (I'm no longer in bed.) They immediately drop their stuff. The woman comes over and lies down in the bed, putting her head on my pillow. I'm totally annoyed. They say their room is nextdoor. I ask why they don't just use their own door. I feel like our space has been invaded insensitively.
invasion of spaceThen later I'm telling a group of Ashland friends about it (Jonathan, Catherine, Donny, and others from the D.).
I'm walking through a crowded social place (Swat, I think). I feel very comfortable in my own self, and everything is flowing in a guided, light, cosmic way. All of a sudden I see Will Nessly. He's wearing an orange/red/burgandy shirt, and his dark hair is now long, hanging below his ears. We are both very genuinely happy to see each other. I go up to him and we hug. The hug is amazing because we feel perfectly connected, like our bodies fit together very gracefully; it lasts a long moment. He now seems relaxed, joyful, and happy being himself. It's pleasureable to be in his presence. We want to talk, but he has to take care of something first -- talk to some other people. I see Tedd Goundie. Then I walk through the Swat mailroom and see many empty boxes of chocolate candies. I stop and wonder why, since it's not even near Valentine's day.
the perfection of Will's touch
Chris Fanjul is doing my hair. We're in a house with a couple other folks (Swatties). I'm trying to remember the name of a particular musical group. He's sitting behind me, brushing my hair, which is now very long. At first his touch is gentle and soft. Then I tell him that I my scalp is strong, so he really brushes my hair out. He puts an interesting paste in my hair. It's like he's an artist, and my head is his blank canvas. When he finishes, I go look in a mirror. I look strange. My scalp has been painted lavendar on my side-part, and my bangs are slicked back. My hair in back is pulled into a ponytail.
Chris is my hairdresserThen I'm in a large room that has many people in an audience, sitting in the rows of seats that line the walls, ascending upwards as they go back (like bleachers in a gym). All are facing the big center floor. I've organized the function with Chris. (It's our SWEB class?) I stand up and ask everyone to be quiet. Then I read a poem I've written. At the end I tell everyone that I'm not a "poet" but that this stuff I just read is a lot better than the writings I wrote several years ago. I promote our HTML class, saying everyone has the chance to learn a great skill. Then I turn it over to the audience, explaining that this is an open mic event.
A family immediately gets up and goes to the middle of the floor. Meanwhile, Jean (from Guatemala) asks me if I brought a whole big book of my poetry to read. I tell her no. The family is now doing an impromptu dance performance. Each one of them is dressed in unusual clothing -- flowing costumes. There are about 6 or 7 of them dancing, both male and female, young and old. I'm put off by their act because I was expecting this function to be solely sounds/words/writing, not visual body movement. They are moving very quickly and energetically. At one point the teenage daughter jumps up onto the wall, hanging/climbing with her legs fully in the splits.
I move over to the other side of the room, walking behind a curtain. In the process I find a round tin box on the floor; I think it was left behind by a man from the dancing family. The front label says "Avocado Hair Cream," with a picture of a man with slick hair. It's from The Body Shop. I open the box. Inside is a bunch of homemade mayonnaise. It's from a meal that was served earlier. I guess the family really liked the mayo and wanted to take some home with them.
Somehow Megan and Vivi are here.
- FIN -
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