Dreaming of Russia and waking to love
Well isn’t this fun. I can’t believe how much work I have to do in such a short time. I go from so busy I don’t even stop to pee to so busy there is no way to actually complete the amount of work I have to do in the time allotted. I’m taking a momentary break to write and clear my head.
Oh! Message for Violet, if you’re reading this….I’ve been trying to send you two responses to comments on your blogs but my phone is being frustrating and won’t seem to post them. I think it’s the wireless down here in the hospital basement. Anyway, I’ll keep trying. I wanted you to know I hadn’t forgotten about you.
So. I’m missing my friend Sara these days something awful. She was that one touch-stone that I knew I had no matter what and we always kind of celebrated the start of spring together, knowing it would get a bit easier for her to get out and about without the biting winds and snow of winter. I was always worried she would slip on ice and fall somewhere when the weather was bad. I guess she doesn’t need to worry about that anymore though….wherever she is. I wonder if she would be surprised by the aching hole she left behind her….probably not. I still feel a perfect split of despair and joy when I think of her and how much pain she felt in life. At the very least, she has silence now from the things that ate at her body and soul. Such a soft, warm love I feel when I think of my friend. I hope she can feel it too, somehow. *sigh* Sara….I miss you so much. Everything in my world is still a little bit off, without you in it.
I dreamed of other people’s anguish last night on endless loops. I found myself as a child inside a very harsh prison where everyone was about ten times my size and spoke in Russian. They were defeated, lost people; angry as hell but muted in a way that made it seem like their anger would never be realized or expressed. Many of them were locked in small, narrow cells where they only had enough room to pace for about 6 steps in two directions unless they walked over their hard, cold yoga mat for a bed. It was late at night and the doors were all locked and quiet. Lights were off and there was an overall hum of silence broken only by the rustle of cheap polyester sheets as the inmates tossed and turned.
I was young and very small and could easily slip between the bars of the cages the prisoners were kept in. I crept down the dark, damp, under-ground feeling corridors and peered into each cell and waited for my eyes to find the human shadows in the dark. I crept up to a sleeping body, male, muscular and tattooed with a buzz-cut bald head as per prison regulations. The hair was just starting to grow back and looked spiky and soft to the touch so I reached out and stroked his head with my fingers, relishing the feeling of the prickly hairs on my skin. I lingered too long, once, and the inmate’s eyes flew open, his hand clamping to my wrist so fast I didn’t see him move. I tried to pull back but he held me there, startled and blinking, trying to figure out who or what I was and why I was in his locked cell in the middle of the night.
“I’m not here to hurt you!” I quickly said, instantly flushing crimson because I felt so stupid. I obviously wouldn’t be much of a threat to a grown man ten times my size but I didn’t know what else to say.
“Are you here to help me?” he asked in Russian, which I understood somehow, but didn’t answer. I didn’t know why I was there.
I pulled back and moved towards the bars, intending to leave his cell, but he jumped up, panicked, reaching for me and moving in a tumbling, frantic way to get to me before I was through the bars and beyond reach. He got to me just as I was through the bars. I felt his hand on my shoulder, warm and not aggressive, and I stopped. He begged me silently not to go and I reached back in, still half way through the bars, and wrapped my arms awkwardly around him. He seemed so young, like a child suddenly, in a grown man’s body. I stroked his back as best I could from our awkward embrace and I turned my face to his chest and could both smell and taste the need in him. I wanted, so badly, to help…to heal; maybe just to provide comfort and connection but I soon realized that I wasn’t really there (I have an odd sense that where I am is not real when I’m dreaming although I never realize I’m actually dreaming). I watched my arm fade and start to vanish and he let me go, feeling the shift along with me.
“Please come back some day?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. I smiled, nodded, promised I would.
I think I woke there for a moment and then fell right back into the same place. I wandered the same hallways and found a door leading down to what I assumed to be a cellar/dungeon/solitary confinement. The walls were actually made of damp dirt once I got three or four steps down and it felt like being buried alive, like there wasn’t enough air to keep me alive down there. I forced my heart and breath to slow and calm, reaching back to memories of diving in another time, and pushed on into the darkness.
I came to a cell that had a tiny window at the bottom; one I had to lie on my belly to look into. I felt exposed and in danger, lying on the ground in the dark like that, but I had to see what was inside. It was a woman….a girl, really, and she was sobbing into her hands silently, her body shaking with sadness. The room was tiny and there was nothing in it aside from her and the little window allowed enough room for my hand to reach through, so I did, stretching my fingertips towards her huddled shadow in the even-darker black of the cell. I could *just* reach her and the moment our skin made contact she jumped, wild-eyed, straight up and shrunk back into the deepest corner of the room.
“Why are you here?” she yelled so shrilly that it hurt my ears. “What do you want?”
I didn’t want anything from her, I just wanted to touch her and pull something from within her, out. She was too afraid to move though, so I pulled my hand slowly from her cell and stood up again, moving along down the dank hall that seemed to never end.
I don’t know what that was all about. Everyone there was Russian…I’ve never been to or associated with anyone from Russia so, probably random. I must have seen a video or heard something on the news that triggered the dream setting. Still…woke up so achy inside and so lonely. It hurt, not having finished whatever it was I was doing there and it’s been bothering me since. Maybe I just need to give something back…take care of someone or somehow reduce their struggle. Maybe it’s about Colt and my wavering confidence that I am doing right by him.
Ohh speaking of Colt…those morning cuddles are what keeps me going. Every morning now, he waits for me to wake him, to climb into his bed and scoop him and his blankets up into my arms. I’m sure I’ve said this before here but the best feeling/smell in the entire world, for me, is hugging my boy and laying my cheek on his head. His soft hair and all the smells that are purely, humanly Colt. If he would let me I would lie there for hours with hair in my face. It’s kind of strange because I quite dislike anyone else’s hair touching me, particularly around my mouth (it’s the germ/OCD thing that’s to blame there). I also intensely dislike the feeling of someone breathing on my face but when it’s Colt, all I can think is how lucky I am to have him in my life. This morning he shoved his entire head under my chin, and I was in heaven for the ten minutes we spent waking up.
I’m so grateful for the little things these days. How could I not be? I wish I could dole out hugs to you all today and share that feeling of being so connected and loved. 🙂 Hugs for you all, from here, at least. xx On with the crazy work day for me.
About GrainneMy name is Grainne. This blog has been with me for years now and has served as a journal, a confessional, an outlet and a place for me to create and express my love of life. Thank you for stopping by and for becoming a part of this life long journey of mine. I appreciate every single one of you who takes the time to do so. :)
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