Dreamscapes

In my dream last night - actually it was in the predawn hours, when I'd decided to settle back into bed just after my trip across the creaky floor to the bathroom - I was at a public event. It was a very public event on Potter County's courthouse square, and there were people milling about everywhere. I was at a table, under a canopy, likely hearkening back to the days I'd be at our table at Farmer's Market on summer Friday afternoons. 

A woman who looked Katie Britt-like stopped and looked me in the eyes before unleashing a torrent of hate. There were no understandable words and I didn't even grasp what she was talking about in my dreaming state. But it was hate, brutal, cutting, sharp, darkening the air. Hate that made my stomach clench and brought my shoulders - still a little sore from a strenuous orchestra practice last night - up to my ears as I tried to retreat much like a turtle into its shell.

I looked at her and said, "You're an asshole." Now at this point in my recount, I will tell you that I am not one to talk like that, especially in public! While you might be thinking hey, that's not so bad, I am the woman, while  laboring in the transition stage, was saying "gosh, gosh, gosh," a story my midwife has often repeated.

As happens in dreams, everything stopped, complete silence in what had been a hum of activity. One of my brothers (who shall remain un-named) came up behind, gently moved me aside and spoke to this woman, "You'll have to forgive her," and I felt a flame of embarrassment, like a menopausal hot flash.

Dreamlike change of scene and I'm offering my own abject apology in front of some kind of court or tribunal.

But then I was back in my dark bedroom, under the covers with the aroma of morning coffee making its way up the stairs. This time I did decide to get up, but reaching for my bathrobe, looking forward to my waiting coffee, I still felt the sting of the shame, and even now, hours later, writing this.

But here's the thing: I had nothing to be sorry about. I am only sorry I didn't offer a nearby pie to the face of that woman in my dream.  In my dream, fighting my dream battle, I was speaking out - confronting - what I saw and felt as hate, powerful, evil, dark. But even so, it is not without risks - both internal and external.

In the real world just a few days before, I had used my personal writing practice to share my reaction to Senator Britt and her mis-statements and outright lies. Sometimes putting my reflections out there feels uncomfortable - as evidenced by my subconscious bringing that discomfort forward in a dream.

Many friends and  acquaintances have communicated privately to me that they have read my words and share many of my thoughts but are too uneasy or scared to react in any public way that might tip off other friends or neighbors.

There are many layers here but I am fully aware that Potter County is a small place, a conservative place and it's impossible to remain completely anonymous. I publish my blog for a public audience and I announce a new post on social media. I want people to read my words and I want people to think about what I choose to share in my writing.

The post on my blog which received the most hits is this one, followed closely by this one, and then this. And while I've hit the orange publish button on 77 blog posts since beginning this blog, there are 38 in draft form - some nearly ready to publish when I choose and others that will likely never be offered to the public. 

This is my choice and my blog - out there, in public, in writing, part of the writing practice that has become a daily part of my life since the pandemic lockdown.  Thanks for reading and do leave a comment - you can remain anonymous!