B E B E R E

"Dreams are toys: Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squared by this."

I'm not one of those girls who gets big into divination or the interpretation of dreams, but I have learned to pay attention to my subconscious when it starts sending me messages. Last night, it was very cold in the house. I put on my thermal socks and crawled under the comfortable and the flannel sheets and drowsed off with the very pleasant feeling of being embraced.

"Quelquefois, comme Eve naquit d'une côte d'Adam, une femme naissait
pendant mon sommeil d'une fausse position de ma cuisse. Formée du
plaisir que j'étais sur le point de goûter, je m'imaginais que c'était elle qui
me l'offrait. Mon corps qui sentait dans le sien ma propre chaleur voulait
s'y rejoindre, je m'éveillais. Le reste des humains m'apparaissait comme
bien lointain auprès de cette femme que j'avais quittée, il y avait quelques
moments à peine ; ma joue était chaude encore de son baiser, mon corps
courbaturé par le poids de sa taille. Si, comme il arrivait quelquefois, elle
avait les traits d'une femme que j'avais connue dans la vie, j'allais me
donner tout entier à ce but : la retrouver, comme ceux qui partent en
voyage pour voir de leurs yeux une cité désirée et s'imaginent qu'on peut
goûter dans une réalité le charme du songe. Peu à peu son souvenir
s'évanouissait, j'avais oublié la fille de mon rêve."

Sometimes, just as Eve was created from one of Adam’s ribs, a woman would be born during my sleep from a false positioning of my thighs. Formed from the pleasure I was on the verge of tasting, I imagined that it was she who was offering me this. My body, feeling its heat suffusing her, would move towards joining with her, and then I would wake up. The rest of humanity seemed to me quite distant in comparison to this woman I had left barely moments ago; my cheek was still hot from her kisses, my body aching from her weight. If, as it happened every now and again, she had the characteristics of a woman I had known in life, I would devote myself to the goal of finding her, just like those who take a trip in order to see with their own eyes a city they’d always dreamed of seeing, figuring that you can capture in reality the magic of a dream. Bit by bit, her memory would fade away, and I would forget the girl of my dream.

-from Combray, again

I don't know that my experience was this hot, but it did make an impression. The "dream guy" I spent part of the night with was just content to curl up with me, to spoon, to protect. He seemed strong, but gentle at the same time. I remember facial hair and the impression of big hands. Never met him before, but I'm sure I'd know him on sight.

At some point in the middle of the night, he left me, and I was transported to my father's house back in New York State. A familiar old fear (not unfounded) crept over me, as I noted that someone was sneaking around the first level of the house during the before-dawn-time in an effort to get in. Rather than let myself be taken over by the usual desperation and helplessness, I went to the front door, opened it, threw on the porch light and asked whoever it was to come over where I could see him. This person was on the porch already, crouched down. If he was startled by me, he did not act it. He was very tall, blonde, thin, looked like he had done some time, was dressed like the street punks I knew in Grenoble, and had a dog with weird markings. He came forward laughing, and I asked him what he wanted. He didn't say it, just thought it - me. I didn't feel fear exactly, just mental numbness from lack of sleep and a sense that I had to do something so that this person, who really felt unhealthy, wouldn't hurt the other, sleeping members of the household. I thought that though the dog accompanying looked weird, it was still a dog, someone who loved this person. I could work with that. The man picked me up in his arms and held me so tightly that I couldn't breathe. My mind thought, "I really do need a longer spoon," and I woke up.

Now, again, I don't devote a tremendous amount of time towards finding what the Divine Oracle is feeding me during my sleeping hours, but the part of me that was trained to interpret stuff is sort of puzzled at this use of imagery. What devil am I supping with right now? How and why am I swallowing my distaste of and bearing embraces by pathologues? What need I be squared with in order to avoid being pursued by the proverbial bear?