The Brass Bed (Dream Journal 3/96)
I dream, sitting upright in an old brass bed.Yellow cushions support my body so I can sit up comfortably. The bed rests on a grassy knowl above a meadow, with the sky blue overhead. The meadow, empty, with no person or animal in sight, hums with the sound of bees and birds. It's just me and Milton, dreaming under an open sky. Spring's lush green grass sways in the warm breeze, and the meadow is filled with lupin and poppies. At first I 'm not certain, but then, I do smell it, jasmine.
My hair is red and very, very curly. Oh, yes, and in my dream I'm thirty-four, half my age now. As I remember back, I hated being thirty-four. So, can you imagine, half my age, an age I hated?
In front of the bed, on a red lacquered table, a Quan Yin, maybe three or four feet tall, white and serene, blesses me. She reminds me of someone I knew when I was a child. I try to look into her eyes, but they are downcast. I think they might be blue, if I could only see them.
My notebooks, all twelve of them, cover the ground half hidden beneath crumpled newspaper. Their covers have been ripped off and stacked neatly under a brick. Notebooks and covers are out of my reach, and I am unable to collect them.
A small fire burns in a rock enclosed pit,
charring a wooden bowl.
I lean back into the rdd clay, pressing my body into its softness.