Be my friend.
Don't forget to love me,
Think of me in your dreams,
And promise you won't forget me.
Choose to see me when you close your eyes,
And hope for me to never leave.
It could be like it once was.
All you have to do is ask,
And we could go back,
Back to when neither of us was afraid,
Back to when we were free
To touch and love and dream,
Back to when you were you
And I was me.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Dreaming while breathing
So I've been doing that thing again... holding my breath in my sleep. Its so weird. I don't know why I do it, and even though it most generally accompanies a dream where I am swimming (or worse yet, drowning), I don't realize I've done it until wake up and feel the aching in my lungs. If I am drowning, I wake up just before I presumably die, my chest heaving and tight; but most of the time, I don't fully wake and don't feel the ache until the next day. I think its those times that I must dream that I suddenly acquire the ability to breathe underwater.
Last night, I was swimming - in a pool with women I feel I know, yet don't recognize. The pool was in my elementary school gym, encased in old brick and containing the bluest of Maui waters. I was swimming lengths in the same lane with a beautiful acquaintance - though I can't quite remember who it was. The person I do remember, though, is the woman standing above the pool, in an all white pantsuit and a silver whistle dangling from her neck: it's Ellen. Yes, as in Degeneres. How wierd is that? She kept blowing that damn whistle. And, I kept holding my damn breath. Until, eventually, when I inhaled slowly, shallowly, and miraculously learned I could breath in the liquid and survive moments, minutes, hours immersed in this blue heaven.
Maybe seconds later or maybe hours later, I am crawling out of straw-covered ground into an open charred field and staring at orange fire in the sky, ready to dodge sparks that might be coming my way. This time I am with men, all of whom I recognize, some of whom I love, others whom I fear. Our bodies are covered in black soot and the air is thick with black smoke. And, strangely, I do not hold my breath here; no, here, I breathe in eagerly, freely, hungrily.
Last night, I was swimming - in a pool with women I feel I know, yet don't recognize. The pool was in my elementary school gym, encased in old brick and containing the bluest of Maui waters. I was swimming lengths in the same lane with a beautiful acquaintance - though I can't quite remember who it was. The person I do remember, though, is the woman standing above the pool, in an all white pantsuit and a silver whistle dangling from her neck: it's Ellen. Yes, as in Degeneres. How wierd is that? She kept blowing that damn whistle. And, I kept holding my damn breath. Until, eventually, when I inhaled slowly, shallowly, and miraculously learned I could breath in the liquid and survive moments, minutes, hours immersed in this blue heaven.
Maybe seconds later or maybe hours later, I am crawling out of straw-covered ground into an open charred field and staring at orange fire in the sky, ready to dodge sparks that might be coming my way. This time I am with men, all of whom I recognize, some of whom I love, others whom I fear. Our bodies are covered in black soot and the air is thick with black smoke. And, strangely, I do not hold my breath here; no, here, I breathe in eagerly, freely, hungrily.
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