A dream.
I am standing in water.
The water is warm and clear. My arms are at my sides, and the surface is broken at my elbows. The water eddies around me as it pushes for the shore and then retreats. I am fascinated by the notion that part of this body of water is now replaced by me.
I am taking up space.
I am empty and I am taking up space.
A space that was the water is now me.
Is now nothing.
I am a glass jar, settled in the sand.
Heavy and balanced.
The water flows around me, tamed and directed by my presence.
I control the water.
The water cedes to my held emptiness.
A space that was the water is now me.
Is now nothing.
The water rises.
I breathe deeply as new murky water arrives, shockingly cold and urgent.
It settles just below my shoulders, and I stand tall as the water moves around me.
There are no waves, but the water surges and recedes, much more powerfully than before. I can feel the back and forth momentum against my flesh, and I watch the water curve and current around my body. I am in control . . . the water yields to my outline.
I am a glass jar.
I control the water.
The water cedes to my held emptiness.
A space that was the water is now me.
Is now nothing.
The water rises.
I breathe deeply as new water arrives, thicker somehow and oily against my neck, bitingly cold.
It settles just below my chin, and darkness falls as the water smooths and finds its place.
There are no waves, and in the darkness the surface of the water is a rippled bolt of velvety liquid fabric flung free for inspection.
I am a flaw. A hole in the fabric.
The water below is angrier now, although there are no waves. I stiffen and shift to keep my balance.
The water yields to my outline. Accepts the flaw in its surface fabric.
I control the water.
The water cedes to my held emptiness.
A space that was the water is now me.
Is now nothing.
I feel the sand shift beneath my feet. A sharp bit of rock or shell bites into my flesh. I am silent but the injury shrieks as water rushes to enter.
The water rushes . . . in.
The water finds a space within me and fills it.
The pain is excruciating as cold and salt and sand scour my cut flesh.
The water is salty.
I have not tasted the water, but the pain tells me the water is salty.
I breathe deeply and accept the pain. The pain eddies and surges and grips me. There are no waves, but I feel its insistence against my body.
I am a glass jar.
I am empty.
I force the pain to surround me instead of inhabit me. It swirls with the water, an oily jagged icy mix.
The water yields to my outline. The pain yields to my outline.
I am in control.
There is ceding to my held emptiness.
A space that was water is now me.
A space that was agony is now me.
Is now nothing.
I am in control.
I am a glass jar.
I am empty.
I am this space.
The sky becomes a mirror and lowers to show me the flaw in the surface of the liquid velvet.
I greet my reflection with upturned face.
I scream a scream of triumph. A scream of ground held. A scream of space maintained.
A scream of existence.
I scream and I see that scream reflected in the mirror that is the sky.
I see my mouth opened in triumph.
I see the inside of my mouth whitened with a hundred round open sores.
I see the top of the jar that is me.
Unsealed.
The water rises.
The pain rises.
I am a glass jar.
I am filled.
I am filled with water and agony.
What was empty gives way.
I release what I held.
What was me yields.
My outline fades.
I am filled.
I am nothing.
I am a jar.
Well…
I am a bit speechless.
Am I missing something about Tennessee? That made me have to read again.
The mention of Tennessee in my tags is just a reference to the Wallace Stevens poem I also mentioned in my tags.
It’s a lovely poem.
Let me see if it’s here in the internet somewhere.
Hold on.
Here you go . . .
Anecdote of the Jar
by Wallace Stevens
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
That is a beautiful poem.
As for your dream? I am still speechless…
I will take speechless.
I can work with speechless.
A day off… it’s well fricken about time!
xoxo
Slacker!
Both of you are very sassy.
Love to you both.
Me
Why am I on moderation? Why haven’t you responded yet? Why Saturday? Why didn’t you take the lords day off? Hello? Hello? Knock, Knock, Knock. Is there anyone there? By the way, this is not a phone machine message. You’re getting the real deal. Lucky, you. Please hold during the silence.
Oh, you responded… JYL… it’s for you!!!!!
Derek?
You are a big goofball!
Snort!
I got the snort- whoo hoo!
Be careful, commenty you.
I am addictive.
Hee hee!
Hi, Jyl!
This is usually as far as I get into a phone conversation before I hand the phone over to Jyl.
You are making me giggle.
Thanks, you.
Now Derek is as giggly as Mark. First he’s inviting Julia over for coffee and muffins, and now he’s leaving you comments. Business had better pick up, he obviously has too much free time to smooze with my friends! We’re at NBAA right now with a booth at one of their meets. He doesn’t usually have such easy computer access! xoxo
You are inviting people over to your house for coffee and muffins?
Who ARE you?
Derek, the modern day unemployed house husband of the year! See you next Tuesday!
Holy shit.
Mouth hanging open,
No words.
I love it when you make me laugh.
Love it when you make me groan.
And love it when you floor me with your words.
M
Mishelle -
Funny thing is that I sat down with every intention of being funny.
And then Maj asked me to open a jar.
And my dream came back to me in a big rush.
And so I wrote that instead.
Thank you.
Wow! Your words are astounding. If this is what a day off produces, please continue the practice. Thank you for sharing your talent.
Jan -
Oh, thank you for the compliments.
They mean a lot to me today.
Thank you, babe.
Kris
I second that! Day off refreshes the wellsprings (little water allusion…).
Alright, sir.
Enough commenting on this post.
You have work to do.
This reminds me of a painting that my grandfather had – it was simply an ocean . . . depending on where your mind was when you looked at it, it was either an ocean at sunrise/sunset, or in the middle of a storm…or an invitation to jump in and lose yourself.
This is a beautiful piece of writing, Kris.
John -
Oh, I love that . . . the notion of an image changing depending upon what the viewer brings to the experience of viewing.
I just love that.
Thank you for that.
Me
Amazing. Love the imagery!
On a side note, if I were glass, I’d want to be a CocaCola bottle – it has sexy curves – where in reality, I’m more like a Mason jar. sigh.
So funny.
I never once imagined the jar that was me to be anything but Mason-jarred in shape.
Never once.
Yup. And when you take the lid off, it’s reduced to pieces…
Story
of
my
life ;)
Bother.
Me too.
I’m a bear of little brain so I’ll leave it to others to interpret the dream, but it’s a very powerful image. Water is so incredible with its power yet adaptability. Beautiful. TY 4 sharing.
I remember swimming once @ the headwaters of the Hudson. Because of the geology of the area (my parents would kill me 4 not remembering, since they lived there and did geology field work to find lead deposits there), the water had hollowed out wonderful smooth depressions that you could just rump-bump along. 1st time I ever really thought of water as such a marvelous thing. Sure you were a strong, elegant jar that could survive the buffeting.
David?
TY 4 sharing annoys me.
Spell that shit out!
Love,
Me
OK — it’s because other ppl. aren’t so willing to be vulnerable, but I know you hate 2 hear that, so I won’t say that under any circumstances, least of all today. OK?
That was supposed to be written in invisible electrons, so you could only see it if you poured lemon juice all over your laptop. I guess I need to check the formula again.
OK, now I see.
Alright, then.
You. Amaze. Me.
Sam -
Thank you, babe.
Sigh.
Thank you.
Kris
Seriously. Amazing imagery. I could visualize all of it. I am a very visual person. When a writer can describe something so in depth without an extensive amount of words, brilliance is created. Sheer brilliance. You are a profound dreamer, huh?
Kim -
I have always dreamed with great intensity.
Once in a while, one of my dreams is more linked to my waking life than normally appears to be the case.
And once in a while, I am inclined to share.
Thanks, you.
My dreams are almost always linked to my waking life. I am not a profound dreamer, but occassionally a profound thinker… atleast I think so. A little full of myself? No, I have terrible self-esteem. Haha, anyways. I love reading your blog. Thanks for sharing your profoundness.
Kim -
Most of my dreams are linked to my waking life, but not always in a way that makes them interesting to share.
Anyway.
Love to you.
I have a feeling that this post will stay with me for a long time. So powerful.
Erin -
Wow.
That would make me very happy . . . for my words to linger.
Love that.
Dreams are symbolic but sometimes dreams are just dreams…you know?
I loved the lonely visual your words painted.
I like most of my dreams. But they are often bizarre or sensless. And mostly about sex. So there.
Heehee.
Becca -
Yes, sometimes dreams are just dreams.
And sometimes they are more.
I’ve had that dream… only I woke up drowning when I opened my mouth to scream. Sooo not fair. ;)
P.S. I’d like to echo what everyone else has said. Beautiful imagery. Very poingnantly written. Me likey.
Thank you very much for the lovely words.
Love that.
I feel like I should say something.
I felt the surge. The power of the water.
Word poetry.
wow.
My jar is full. But it has a lid.
Shanon -
Word poetry?
Oh, I like that.
Thank you.
Raw.
Sigh.
Thank you, babe.
Beautiful and indeed, raw. So much meaning, so many different interpretations. On the one hand, I love that about dreams. On the other, it always makes me think: it’s *just* figments from our brain. We attach the meaning, the explanation. But yeah, that’ how I see most things: the beautiful, the symbolic, the ‘higher power’ and then the science, the ‘truth’.
Especially resounding right now as I’ve a friend who’s in the jar right now. Thank you for sharing! Oh, and isn’t it startling when a dream suddenly comes back during the day? I sometimes find it explains why I’ve been in a mood all day.
Ruby -
You are very profound!
Because what is thought or science or religion or our experience of reality in the end if not a figment of our brains?
A perceived reality.
Exactly.
Dreams are as meaningful as we perceive them to be.
No more and no less.
Exactly.