My head is someones dream. Im tired of
sleeping Crank, The Catherine Wheel
How did I get here?
Vaguely recall a chance e-mail encounter. Friends of friends. No solid
starting points. Not in any of these years. And here I am, lost adrift
and angry in a beat-up leather jacket and ripped jeans.
And I have never seen anything like this gardens in the front
and woods in the back. No noisy suburban neighbors to wave at or avoid
while chanting in the back yard, wondering if they will ask what I am
doing, wondering if they will tell my mother. No, not here. Free here.
Inside, a house, a real house. Not a temporary dorm or dingy college
apartment. A whole house. Pagan. Full of art and arcane; candles, witchy
books and statues. (Jauntily strewn about, not hidden under the bed!)
Incense can be burned here. In my mind oddly juxtaposed with my mothers
pope plates and flannel-backed vinyl tablecloths.
I get a sense of what is possible, an alternative paradigm. I begin
to learn their dream, try to make it my own. Gradual stagnation. Stunted
growth. A somnolent decade passes.
This will fill my losss void. Cast out my blood family with their
faith, hypocrisy, and dependency. Fleeing the old homes
that have judged and rejected me. They said I could come home
again. I long to be here. Anywhere. Elsewhere.
They welcome me to the family.
Family, indeed People stuck with not chosen. No need to take on
public behavior. Dispense with common courtesies. Blood cant leave
blood. Same roles, different actors. Familiar pain and dysfunction that
I thought Id left behind years ago. Unresolved, following me here.
Again, the walls closing in, feeling trapped and without options. Again,
feeling blamed and ashamed. That familiar sick feeling of free fall...
AWAKE with a start. Cold sweat from a haunting nightmare. Daydream
Awake in a home of my own, with my own trees, bells, books and baubles.
At home, at last, in myself. I have my own dreams now, but my life is
in the waking, in the consciousness.
Real and alive and deliberate, I live.
Awake and wary.
POETRY & STORIES