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001 - "Wilkerson, Richard" <rcw - celtic spirit
Electric Dreams: Dream Flow
A fountain of dreams in Cyberspace
--------------- MESSAGE dream-flow.v001.n357.1 ---------------
From: "Wilkerson, Richard" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: celtic spirit
Date: Tue, 08 Aug 2000 23:51:00 -0700
MIME-Version: 1.0
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Note: Stan requests that his name an e be kept with the dream. -R
From: stan kulikowski ii <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: dream: celtic spirit
DATE : 8 Aug 2000 11:01
DREAM : celtic spirit
=( the air conditioner had broken on sunday afternoon, but bill the
repairman could not get here until today when i was scheduled to start
classes again and give five hours of lecture. it was too hot for me to
sleep all night, so i went in for a full day of teaching with about two
hours of sleep. last night i went to bed early, being tired, but did not
get to sleep until almost 03:30. i had to prepare a midterm exam and the
programs did not cooperate so i ended up doing a lot of formatting by
hand. when i finally got to turn off the light, i went right to sleep. )=
my parent's house in ohio seems strangely empty with just me living in
it. the rooms are the same, but with my furniture in it, not theirs. at
least this weekend i have guests staying over, so it will not seem so lonely.
in the dining room which always served as the main gathering place, being
so central to everything else, i am sitting with the two gentlemen who are
visiting with me. one is a man in his fifties, thin grey hair and
distinguished looks, but he does not seem to have a name. at least, not one
that i know even though i understand that i should know it. the other man
is clint walker, the actor who played cheyenne bode in the television
series of the 1950s. he is much older now, but still he has that massive,
chiseled strong look, just sagged a little around the edges.
we are quietly talking about something or the other when my third guest
arrives. why, it is marcia marks who i have not seen in many years. i am
delighted that she is here. i get up and go over to kiss her. she is
still the thin woman of slightly scarred beauty that i remember. indeed, i
find that her occasional imperfection of the tissue, a jagged line on the
leg or a tear across a lip, increases the intriguing character of her
attraction to me. she always seems so open and giving of herself.
hm, a little too giving it seems. she hardly says hello to me. just a
quick peck on the cheek and marcia goes over to clint walker and engages in
one on one conversation like she is discovering him from the inside
out. the other man and myself just ignored.
her luggage arrives with a taxi driver from the driveway. i am left to
carry it all into one of the empty bedrooms. actually i was hoping that
she would sleep with me as we usually do, but i would not presume on
assuming this. just hope.
when i get back to the dining room, i find her kissing clint walker. well,
there go my hopes i guess. feeling like an unwanted intruder, i go to the
kitchen to find two containers of organic garbage that needs disposal. i
do not know where my other visitor went.
taking the two plastic cans of garbage, i go out into the backyard with a
large hand trowel. i am to bury the food scrapes in the garden where my
mother always put it to fertilize the plants. there are not many things
planted this season. i have to walk around a few scattered rows of
vegetables, but the whole back half of the plot is untended.
taking my large tool in hand, i try to dig a hole into which i will toss
the garbage. but the soil is strange. it is really light and loose, like
a volcanic ash. every time i scoop a shovel full, it is so weightless that
it runs off the shovel and cascades back down the sides of the hole. i can
never the hole any larger.
since i can make no headway digging, i take up the first container of
garbage, invert it over the loose place in the soil and see if i can push
it in. not only does the container push through the soil easily, it
quickly sinks the entire length of my arm. with the soil this sparse, i am
surprised that i can walk upon it without sinking through. pulling the
plastic can back out is something of an effort, having to pull against a
suction, but when it comes out, i find that the garbage has remained
behind. i repeat this process with the second can.
not wanting to go back into the house, i find that the digging tool is
sharp on the edges and can be used as a hatchet. on the back edge of the
garden there is an old cherry tree stump that needs removing. chopping at
it takes a lot of strength, but i find the effort comforting. unlike
relationships with women, this is a task which goes better the more work
you put into it. even though the effort is difficult, there is a direct
relation between what you do and what you accomplish. i chop and chop and
chop. the stump comes apart in large chunks and i work at the roots partly
buried in the soil.
"there you are." says marcia as she has come outside. "you seem to be
going at that job with a vengeance. you are not upset with me, are you?"
of course i am, she obviously knows that. how could she not? "what you do
with yourself has always been just up to you." i tell her. it was always
that way, i could have no other way. but that does not stop me from
wishing she wanted to be just mine.
"i am a celtic spirit." she says mysteriously. she had always before
portrayed herself as a quaker. "i must give to those who need."
well, i feel a heart ache inside my chest like i need her, and she does not
seem to be aware of it. or, at least, she does nothing about it. i think
the last. she has to dole out her comforts judiciously and i am not on the
list this time.
why can't i tell her that i want her? it seems that if i bring myself to
say the obvious, it will mean nothing.
"do you want me just for yourself?" she asks me, cocking her head to one
side in the manner she did when inspecting leftover food for imperfection.
yes, my heart cries out inside me. "no, i want you to be yourself." i
hear my mouth saying. both answers are true. i want herself to want to be
just mine. but the yes is more true than the no, but i can not bring
myself to say it. she has to choose me for herself for it to have
meaning. still, i seem trapped in not being able to say what i mean.
the other man, not clint walker, comes out of the house. "i have checked
the movie times, and we need to dress if we are going out." the last thing
i feel like is going out with a group. he does not seem to talking to me
anyway.
"what is showing?" marcia asks, obviously pleased to be the center his
attention too.
"aplinka." he says.
"aplinka? what is aplinka?" i ask, but he ignores me. "what is aplinka?"
the two of them go off to the side to talk without my hearing. whatever a
celtic spirit is, she does not tolerate belonging. i go inside the house
to afford them the privacy of their plans.
i find clint walker has turned on the vinyl record player and is playing
some of my albums. some jazz is currently whining out and i do not care
for it. i go over to stacked row of records and start to sort through. i
never kept them in any particular order, but could usually find what i
wanted easily. but this time, i search and search with no luck.
i look up to clint. "did you take out pink floyd, wish you were here?" he
nods and points to a stack of maybe twenty albums. apparently he is ready
for some serious tunes.
=( i wake 10:25, just five minutes ahead of the alarm. i feel well rested
and glad for the time when i feel like getting up. unfortunately, my heart
is really sad for this dream. i have finally dreamed of marcia, and
unfortunately this sad heartache is the result. she was a favorite woman of
mine, and i wondered why i never dreamed of her when some of the less
successful relationships repeat again and again. i guess this feeling of
not being able to tell her the obvious was always true. i always think
that she did see how i felt about her, but always needed to think she was
freer than i could understand. anyway, i feel depressed about this, but
that is probably an ecod of my current life leaking in. i hope someday i
can recall the good feelings i usually could glean from her. those
feelings never lasted for long though. )=
. [EMAIL PROTECTED]
=== qui non est hodie cras minus aptus erit
| | who not is today, tomorrow less suitable will be
--- -- Ovid _Remedia Amoris_ i 94
--------------- END dream-flow.v001.n357 ---------------
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