Dream Analysis//2

You need to get your life in order.

Mess 
To see a mess in your dream symbolizes the state of your waking life. You need to get your life in order.

Fog 
To dream that you are going through a thick fog symbolizes confusion, troubles, scandal, uncertainty and worries. You may not be seeing things the way they really are. You may have lost your sense of direction in life. Alternatively, a fog represents mystery, secrecy and protection.

Scream 
To dream that you are screaming symbolizes anger and fear. You are expressing some powerful emotion which you have kept pent up inside. If you try to scream, but no sound comes out, then it indicates your sense of helplessness and frustration in some situation. No matter how hard you try to get someone’s attention, they cannot hear you. The dream highlights your difficulty in communicating with this person. You need to immediately identify your fears or feelings and confront this situation in real life.Alternatively, your inability to scream may be a form of REM paralysis.

To hear or dream that someone is screaming indicates that some friend or family member is in need of your help.

Suffocating 
To dream that you are suffocating signifies that you are feeling smothered or oppressed by some situation or relationship. Something or someone is holding your back. You are experiencing a lot of stress and tension.

Elevator 

To dream that the elevator is out of order or that it is not letting you off symbolizes that your emotions have gotten out of control. It may be a reflection of your life or your career. You are feeling stuck in some aspect of your life, whether it is your career, relationship, etc.


Yelling 
To dream that you or someone is yelling represents repressed anger that needs to be expressed. If you are yelling and no one hears, then it suggests that you are being overlooked in some waking situation. You feel that your voice does not matter or that your opinion does not count.

In particular, hearing demonic yelling in your dream means there is something you thought you have left in the past that is still haunting you.

eclipsed.

moon covers sun and

sun’s passion disappears, sorts itself into scatters and fades into night. daytime is nighttime is daytime and we gather to witness the undoing of the universe, briefly, brightly, lightly

moon covers sun and

sun’s passion disappears, sorts itself into scatters and fades into night. daytime is nighttime is daytime and we gather to witness the undoing of the universe, briefly, brightly, lightly

meanwhile the ant cleaning crew crawls into the dishwasher, and the mice roll around inside the couch, chewing pathways, settling into nestling bundles

the squirrel jumps up the roof, towards the window, peeking inside, squeaking away.

and, yes, as Moon goes to cover sun, the spider crawls into emilys hair

and all the humans gather to stare at the sky, backs turned to the ducks in a perfect row along the streambank.

we crane our necks to see Moon punish us for placing bootprints on her perfection

as somewhere, a bat flies into a house and hangs to rest inside the light fixture.

we twist our bodies to witness Moon sculpting the waves

and

turn away from the mice in our living room, the bats in our halls, the spiders in our heads – we watch the magnificent unfold and forget its already unfolding – we pause briefly to gasp yet the animals recognize the normality of totality – night is day is night and whether we watch or not, the mysteries continue.

 

 

let me tell you about my morning

when i write my own story i am both storyteller and main character. i get to rewrite my narrative. i get to choose how to see my world. i get to open the door and invite you into my universe. 

im back in salem and it sits the same, like a heavy weight in my stomach or a feeling of being a little unseen: a window partially covered, a light flickering, a cloud over the sun. this morning especially so, though my friends are in the kitchen, though a breeze drafts through my room, though the day sits waiting for me to fill it.

something about overcast days and creaky houses reminds me of stress and sadness and im worried im letting so many people down. two days, two separate situations saying ‘im annoyed’ and ‘you messed up’ and im too sensitive for this. when people criticize i want to hide, i want to crawl under hills, i want to wrap myself in blankets and curl into a corner and feel the feelings and so this is what i do. with tea and candles and telling myself that when people are upset that doesnt mean im wrong. when people are upset, sometimes they are wrong. when people are upset, sometimes i need to take my own side

and the drama in me sighs out, oh, sometimes living is like being an open wound and the salt is just text messages and casual words and how can i be so thin-skinned in such a gouging world

and with that sentiment, sad-me leaves my little cocoon nest and goes into the kitchen and makes myself breakfast oats and tells the roommate whats on my mind. there was miscommunication with someone and its this whole thing and when i explain it he laughs and its so clearly ridiculous and i crack a smile and then we are both laughing and —

its not all so bad.

its not all so good, the world, our nation, right now. but its not all so bad, not all of it. not laughing over oatmeal and not me, at my core, and thats the fear, right?


so, anyways, ashley wrote about blogging and i tell you these little stories, these morning oats and little thought because

i write so that i can speak, i write so that i can see the words i need to read. when the world pulls me down and im confused and tense and disappointed in myself, i get levity. i get agency. when i write my own story i am both storyteller and main character. i get to rewrite my narrative. i get to choose how to see my world. i get to open the door and invite you into my universe.


i dont know if you see me as i want you to – as a friend, as someone doing their best, as someone constantly apologetic and trying to be kind, as a thinker and brave doer and all the things i like to think i am. i do know that i dont like opening up out loud, i stutter and sweat, i avoid hard conversations, and this is why i dont like telling someone off for blaming me for someone elses mess and this whole situation, but anyways, when i write

i want you to see how the corner feels when i wrap the yellowstone-green blanket around my body and sit in my too-tight hat from b and feel the comfort of walls close and warmth closer. i want you to see how i sit and think and ask myself whats happening in my heart and slowly the sun filters through the broken white window blinds onto the scratched up wooden floor and how i start to remember all the wonder that is me and my life. i want you to taste the oats as i eat them slightly under-cooked in a too-hot-to-hold metal bowl and talk through my mouthful to caden and the sun shines a bit more inside me too.

i write so i can feel, and so you can feel it, too.

-h

 

 

 

Why I Blog

After the late film critic Roger Ebert lost his ability to speak as a by product of numerous intense surgeries, he threw himself into online blogging. It was called Roger’s Journal, a title that I particularly latched onto because the writing wasn’t limited to what had become his niche profession, but instead was a collection of anything in his mind. Journalist Janet Maslin said, “Ebert writes as if it were a matter of life and death. Because it is.” 

After the late film critic Roger Ebert lost his ability to speak as a by product of numerous intense surgeries, he threw himself into online blogging. It was called Roger’s Journal, a title that I particularly latched onto because the writing wasn’t limited to what had become his niche profession, but instead was a collection of anything in his mind. Journalist Janet Maslin said, “Ebert writes as if it were a matter of life and death. Because it is.”

Ebert was blogging because he had to blog – because it was a matter of being heard, or not being heard.  A matter of existing or not existing.

There is plenty to dissect here. Ebert was, more or less, shouting his final thoughts and musings for the world to hear, all so without a voice.  I’ve often wonder what kind of benefit this project had on his grieving process, deep below the surface. At the end of the day, one our most human fears is being forgotten once we’re gone. We live inside our own heads for so much of our lives. We have thoughts and fears, small pleasures and intense joys that, really, we can only feel because these things exist solely inside our own selves. So, once we die, so do these things.

For example, I can tell you about how the song Suicide is Painless by Manic Street Preachers makes me sleepy. Sometimes, it even makes me cry. Maybe the song stirs something inside you too, but still, you could never hear it the exact same way I hear it. You’ve never listened to the instrumental version play in the dark from my childhood bedroom from down the hall before a rerun of MASH.

This is a memory or an event or just a human thing strictly for me. These are passing shower thoughts, or while driving to work alone in the early morning. They’re often so fleeting that we don’t even ruminate on them too long ourselves.

But these small, every day thoughts and occurrences are what end of piling together to be our lives. Feel them. Acknowledge them. Out loud, I have said hello to the trees in my yard, or the rocks I sit on overlooking the ocean. Hello, good morning. I’m alive again today, isn’t that wonderful? It’s certainly a pleasure to feel you today, breeze.

These are the kind of things I want to blog about. To celebrate the ordinary and to be the archenemy to apathy. Much like Ebert, this blog has become a practice in existing. A thesis on staying alive. A matter of life or death.

I want to mention here that it’s terrifying to share these things and I have to imagine it’s equally nerve wracking for Heather. When you share, you open yourself to criticism. And criticism has and will come. Some harsher than others. The ones that will hurt the most come from people you would hope understand. The people who fear criticism the most will attack you. Keep that in mind. Someone once told me that if you like what you’ve created, then chances are so will at least one other person on Earth. You’re not an island, you’re not so different. You’ll find your audience, you will find your people. And won’t that be so wonderful.

You can find Roger’s Journal here.

A

what I’m reading: Show Your Work! by Austin Kleon

what I’m listening to: Snowmine

 

 

cheap metaphors for why my life is like a big bowl of mac n cheese

  1.  mac is SO tasty and delicious, but if you eat too much you get sick. see, even good things have to have limits and end. see, you can’t always have the good-and-delicious or you’ll feel a bit sick and tired. see, it’s going to be okay that i’m leaving my wonderful life here
  2. mac is so cheesy and so am i
  3. a good bowl of mac doesn’t come out of a Kraft Macaroni box. real good mac takes a trip to the store, a big gallon of milk, shredding all the cheese, using the oven and the stove, remembering the spices (even the mustard), and cutting up that onion. mac takes time, effort, planning. wow, just like life!
  4. mac is great at any time of day or night, but the best bowls of mac are always shared. think of a blustery autumn evening, red leaves and cold winds outside, warm mac in a big bowl on the table, and your best friends sitting with you, laughing, joking, eating that mac. just like macaroni, life is best when you share it with others.
  5. macaroni is perfect after a long day of school, and a nice baked mac n cheese blends in perfectly in the high-class restaurant. mac for breakfast? no problem. late night drunk mac n cheese? beautiful. just like me, just like my new jacket, macaroni knows that it is versatile and suited for many different situations. this isnt a mac identity crisis, macaronis just flexible!
  6. ashley rose made me macaroni, just like shes made my life this summer warmer, cheesier, happier, and all around more amazing. i love my macaroni and i love ashley rose! thanks for the laughter and meals and fun in the sun, thanks for the mac and the humor and cleaning the shower! thanks for being just as fantastic as a huge bowl of mac n cheese!
  7. and sometimes, you only have time to make a quick bowl of easymac in the microwave, and sometimes you have to write pretty quick and not-that-special blog posts. this is my easy mac. itll do for now.

a practice in assertiveness

these are the words I haven’t spoken but I must, the ones that say I cant and wont be quiet anymore, theres too much living to do, theres too much to me to hide

while you’ve been out

ive been growing like a plant from the dirt, like a forest after fire, like pain back to brilliance

but have you noticed – whats happened to me?

where there were scars there are smiles, where there was insecurity there is solid foundation, where there has been shakiness and fear and anxiety there is all of that but now there is power, there is voice, there is strength

and

do you know me

hi, im heather

hi, I love to climb straight-up hikes, switchbacking to the heavens, sweat teasing my mouth with saltiness, mountain views that make me cry, I love hopping rivers rock-by-rock, I love resting at the top for hours to take in the beauty of the challenge, I love running back down the mountain, and I love

risk. in many forms. it makes me feel alive.

and I love dancing, did you know that? I could dance for hours, the beat in my bones and the joy of movement in my body, I love dirt-bass-grime beats, I love headbanging and intoxication, I love losing myself in a crowd, I love bonding with strangers through our excitement for zomboy and troyboi and porter, I love seeing that side of humanity that’s dying for connection and something deeper and finds it in light shows and notes and harmonies and sounds that resonate in my rib cage

and I love

laughter – over nothing, over ourselves, over life. All the time, the more laughs the better. I don’t care what we look like, laughing ourselves into oblivion, don’t you know this is the only way to scare away the shadows?

And I love

outside. Why eat a meal at the table when I have a dock? Why would I sit inside when the door opens out, why would I listen to microwaves and laundry-machines when there are birds chirping and waves crashing and sun to feel and flowers to smell? There are sunsets to fall asleep to and moons to wonder at and I want to know where the clouds are blowing to and what animals live under the dock and why the spider lives in my car and how to grow my plants as tall as me and nothing is more magic than the fern bush outside this window or the seal chasing fish through the ocean or three bald eagles swooping over me as I float on my back in the middle of the lake

And I love the wind in my hair, on my bike, out of car windows, in little mototaxis through the jungle

And I love travel – by myself – I love the joy of a bus ride to anywhere along twisty dirt mountain roads, no railings, no one expecting me, just views to inhale and people to meet and lives to imagine

And I love my job and my future – I think if I follow my joy it will lead me to a career that will make things better and that’s already happening and I knew that I was on track and now its panning out, really

And I love who I am, right now, always. I love who ive become and I love this life I am leading and I cant bring myself to apologize for any of it, for the smile as I push up the mountain trail, for the joy of late-night pie and morning-after stomach aches, ill always want to run away and lay in the sun by myself, and blast flosstradamus as I drive through the smoky city skylines and wonder at the end of the world, every day is magic and im in love with life.

And I love to write because this is who I am, these are the words I haven’t spoken but I must, the ones that say I cant and wont be quiet anymore, theres too much living to do, theres too much to me to hide, I don’t care about documenting the moments I just want to drink them in like water on a hot day, and I cant think of anything more radical than saying,

here I am! this is me! listen up, I say ‘no’ now!

And I laugh at silly dogs and I laugh at myself and I eat ice cream six days a week. I write every day and I meditate as much as I can and I like slow yoga and books and feminist television and I just cant be mad about things much, except for when its invalidating me

And I feel this depth of pride and happiness and I think its something like self-esteem, do you see?

Because I love all of these things and I am proud of them.

I love all of these things and I love me.