The Dream- Day 9

On Tuesday night, or very early on Wednesday morning, I was having a dream. I was on some sort of a campus taking a class. The class was being held outside in a clearing. There were trees in a semi circle around the students. Some of us were sitting on beautiful verdant grass. I was sitting in a desk. Our professor came in, although I never saw him. He explained to the class that we were having some special guests in that day's class. One of the guests was a highly regarded poet. There was activity in the class; everyone was excited and very nervous because we all knew, even though we hadn't been told, that we would have to recite some poetry of our own.

After hearing this I am frantic. In real life, as in the dream, I write poetry. In real life I purchased this elaborately beautiful, deep blue velvet-covered journal to write poetry and stories in. In the dream I go looking for this notebook. Really searching.There is a poem in there and I know it's perfect to recite in this class. I'm not crazy about reciting this poem at all but I just know it's the one to read in case I'm called upon. I'm getting more and more anxious since I can't find it. But then I come into my bedroom, look under my bed and find it. I'm relieved. I go searching through the book, looking for the actual poem. I see snippets of other poems I've written, all done in my hurried handwriting. I flip and flip the pages of my journal and finally I think I have found it. I close the journal, run my hands over the velvet and leave with it. I wake up.

Lately my dreams have been less fantastic, more literal. This dream certainly wasn't overtly fantastic. But under the surface of it there seemed to be something more to it, something I have yet to figure out. I still don't get it. I'm typing it here hoping to not forget it.

The poem seemed to be such an important component part of this dream that I feel compelled to post it here. I wrote this poem, not for someone but about someone. I posted it someplace else as a dare to myself and I will post it here as well. Here goes:

It feels so good, so good
but this should
be you here where
I touch
I need you so much
My fingers move through
springy wetness
I breathe in bliss
and exhale miss
Because I remember
when you used
to do this
I stifle a moan
and use my pillow
to rub
away the worst
of my desire
I am on fire
for you

That's it. The only thing I will say in defense of my poem is that it came from a real place, a deep seated emotion. Otherwise it's just words. I hope you can feel that when you read it.

Peace