Dreams August 28 Night

Raffery Bedroom Ceiling August 2016

Dream two:
I am shitting
On the toilet
In the office
During the meeting

I am self-conscious
Though everyone shits
On the toilet
In the office
During the meeting

A lace tablecloth
Covers my lap
So delicate
So white
As my colleagues
Take notes
And speak of projections
Revenue streams
Writing notes

I shit self-consciously
No one gives me notice
It’s my first time shitting
On the toilet
In the office
During the meeting.

Dream one:
I am driving an 80’s Caddy
At winter’s night
From the passenger seat
The driver is half-in, half-out
We know each other well
But we are on snowy roads
And I need his help
To turn on the windshield wipers
I tell him and he obliges
We are both comfortable
With my driving
With his half-in, half-out
In an 80’s Caddy.

© Copyright 2017 by John David Higham. All rights reserved.
Photo: Dreamspace Construction (Lewisburg: September 2017)

Montreal (Stuck)

October 28 2015 Windfall 091

Montreal (Stuck)
By John David Higham
Traveling to Montreal in dreamland,
I lived a life of possibilities then;
Of a spacious home in which I wandered about
In the early morning light
As the sun arrived, illuminating mansions and skyscrapers.
Meals were made as my family gathered;
Stories and jokes retold.

Then, morning arrived
Bringing in the mundane waking world
As annoyance rapidly blossomed.

Stuck:
A thousand times yes into maybe into no into never, never, never
As possibilities dropped from the sky as if leaden flocks of birds
That brought their lifeless heaviness into my heart.

Stuck
So quickly the ground beneath my running feet softened,
Swallowing me up to my waist,
My every movement hastening my inertia.

Ones are bad now and I see them all around me:
Tasks daunting, even the pleasurable ones.
People annoying, even the intriguing ones.
Obligations overwhelming, even the simplest ones.

Stuck
Stuck
Stuck…

Might I be still and surrender to the quicksand of my thoughts
Creating perfect reasons to become even more daunted, annoyed, and overwhelmed?
Going neither left or right, forward or backward?

I embrace this muck clinging to my soul;
My mind continues producing multiple webs
Of knotted tangles that form a dark soaked fabric
Now covering my head as I submerge further into my living grave.

Who has done this to me, I wonder.
How did this evolution take place?
Such useless questions give rise to nothing.

I am nothing when stuck.
I am not serene, I am not alive.
Stuck is not stillness, but freezing.
Freezing is not surrendering,
But the soul’s suicide.

I go back.
I go back to Montreal,
Returning to the feeling I was
When I looked out and watched the sun begin
The city’s day; the dream world’s breakfast
Filling my senses with anticipation of nourishment.

A stir of amusement passes through my consciousness like a leaf drifting by on the wind.
I am the leaf.
I am the wind.
I am the muck…

And, then my soul breaks free;
It dances
As my poem makes the birds
Once again fly and returns me
To Montreal…

At Night

Moon W Cloudy Sky Trees June

At night, when The Angels
Surround my bed
And
Support me
And
Tell me
That it is not yet my time
To
Cross over,
They show me all colors
And
Remind me that my Mind’s Eye
Is
Not colorblind.

At night, when I converse
With
Those who have crossed
And
Read their words
Printed on red leather pages
And
Journey in the dream world
With
Their souls joined to me.

At night, when I see
Beyond
My waking world
As
Angelic essences swirl
Above
My dream bed.

At night, sweet night
Of
Conscious
And
Lucid dreaming
When
I fly about
And
Know such things
That
The waking me
Can’t
Yet embrace:
At
Night
I am emancipated…

The Lizard, the Snow, and Bill the Neighbor: An Afternoon Dream

Lizard

Time and opportunity
Hounded me
With
Their draining energy
This afternoon.
Too much of each,
Too many options:
What to do?
What to do?
What to do?

Possibilities intrigued
Then
Overwhelmed me
While
A beautiful day
Tried
Seducing me
Into
Mowing the lawn.

On meditation pillows
In a half lotus
In my den
I meditated:
A lizard
Soon
Traveled into
My Mind’s Eye.

The lizard told me
Not to mow the grass
And
Not to do paperwork
And
Not to run errands.

“Sleep,” she said,
“And visit the dream world.”

So, I did.

There, I lived
On a town’s street
I had lived
Many times previous
In
The dream world
And
For a decade
Or so
In the waking world.

It had snowed
So much
That
Several feet
Of
Thick, heavy drifted snow
Covered
Everything
On the cold afternoon.

I shouted playfully
Trying
To
Make avalanches
Tumble off
My house’s roof;
The place a Victorian.

With wonder
With glee,
I
Watched those dislodged chunks
Become
Low clouds until
They
Plopped on my front yard.

Amused
As
I was
By
My discovered ability
To
Clear my roof
Of its burden,
Bill the neighbor
Amused
Me
Even more
By
Shuffling his feet
And
Pumping his arms
While
Pretending to be a train
On
His way to visit
A
Neighbor’s house
Up
The street.

I awoke smiling,
Knowing
Two worlds had again become one
With symbols assembled
Into
A resonating idiosyncratic moment
Of
Past’s present into present into future’s past
In
Non-linear metaphysical art.

“What, Lizard,”
I asked,
“Does it all mean?”

Lizard, who had been basking
On
My deck in the sun
Smiled.
“It means you didn’t mow the grass
Because
You were clearing off your roof.”

I laughed because she was right.
My head was cleared
Like
The roof
And
I could again embrace bliss
In
The waking world…