The death of a moon cowboy

I am a somewhat-youth with ideas and thoughts and too many dreams that sometimes overflow as these little dribblings from my fingertips. I guess you can try to collect and capture them.


Thursday, July 12, 2007

Dream, morning of 20070622

[A dream, from last night/this morning, before waking up--late for work--at 8:12 am, after hitting snooze countless numerous times and breaking my self-avowed promise to finally be to work at 8 am because they had hooked me up in some ways with love:]

There was a major rainstorm, flood, just me and the kids at home [this just after I told them a rainstorm/lightning/oak tree/rainbow/treasure story last night]; I watched as the streets flooded--we were in our current home but a different version of it, somewhere removed or different--and this sloping hill to the left of the house became mudridden and sloppy, the water rushing up quickly over the gutters (which ran in a stream eastward, to the left towards presumably the mountains). It covered the front yard and all you could see through the window was a thick, transparent view of the dark outside, like looking through TV-rock, ulexite. The slanting, thick strands of pouring rain came like clear jail bars and we were trapped inside. Amy was not home. I remember going out back, by the trash cans (at this point it's a different house, with a garage attached to a concrete backyard/patio, and there are black trash bins there; the sloping hill is now to my right, because I'm out back, and the mud and water mix is visible and ready to pour off this high concrete step, to drown me and start the actual flooding of the actual house). Then the rain has stopped, and there are clouds and bluer sky and birds flying in it, but the water is still everywhere and we don't know if it's just a lull or the storm is over and everything is miraculously saved, no flooding, now just waiting for the mighty waters to recede.

Then I am in a large mansion. More like in a large room in a large mansion; there is sweeping crystal and golden chandelier overhead. There are stairways at each of the four compass direction of the room. Each stairway climbs up then curves, creating a small squared-spiraling staircase up to some connecting bridge or walkway overhead. I am there, and Orion is there too, somewhere, with me. Jonathan is there. There is crying. There has been a family feud. There has been death.

During the rains, members of my family and members of Jonathan's family were out in it, playing or hunting or otherwise recreating. Heather, Darin, Amy and Adie were there, at least. Perhaps Mikie and Joey too. Not my parents. Jonathan's wife and both of his parents, along with some cousins or other relatives who apparently had some gang relations. There was a fight among them. All I knew is that is was about "politics." I kept chanting the word, hating it: "Politics--politics, politics--politics." Every one of them was dead. Our entire families dead. I was left alone with my kids. Why did they all die? Could this be true? This must be my imagination, right? Dreaming?

Jonathan was wounded, a war veteran. He had been out with them. Both of his legs were missing. He was using his hands to drag himself. I would ask him, regardless of his wounds or state of mind: "What happened? Is it even possible for them all to die? What, did they all fire off their guns at the same time, hitting each other perfectly, mortally, all dropping to the wet forest floor at the same time? It's impossible. What happened?" I just couldn't picture it. This was (obviously, appropriately) very difficult for me to grasp, for me to comprehend.

Jonathan could not answer me. He had no answer. He sat on his stumps on the floor, and there were other people pouring into this mansion-room-dininghall. They were his, our customers. They needed their services, their goods, whatever it was that we provided them. Jonathan and I were in business together. The business took priority. But wait! Jonathan made an announcement--seemingly directed to me, because I was out of my mind and miserable and constantly questioning him. He said, "Let's all come back tomorrow and figure this thing out. For now, any money you could offer"--he said this part to the customers--"would be much appreciated. We are going through a hard time." One old man--a farmer, missing teeth, with strands of hair and looking just like Mr Nebbercracker from Monster House--threw down a thin plastic produce bag filled with some loose change, a couple quarters and then some, probably under a buck.

1 comment:

Heather said...

wow this is heck of crazy. am i grasping it right? who is jonathan? so his family and us (excluding you and the kids and mom and dad) were out hunting together and had a political argument and killed each other off? weird. after the rains came too. i cannot possibly begin to analyze this dream. well, i could, but i am no expert.