Tell Me (art)

This art inspired the poem, but does not visually go with the poem. Or rather, the inspiration for the poem was the words on this art combined with last night’s dream…

If I were a person of unlimited means, I would be shopping for a shoemaker to recreate the oh so fabulous traveling boots worn in the dream as those boots were so fine, an unusual design, seemed to go on forever, made of the best and trimmed in an exotic fur above the knees, definately not cheap boots and like something I have never seen. And they were called “traveling boots” in the dream, the pair I put on to leave. My sister took my other boots, also an unusual pair of very nice tall boots, and put them next to the bed of a man I love and we had words about it as that was not fair to him. Leaving my boots by his bed was like staking a claim, kind of like a cat marking her territory to ward off other cats, and I could not do that to him. So I snuck into his room and silently retrieved the boots while he was making love to another woman, which was weird to dream about but oddly, I only felt saddened, not jealous.

I don’t know what happened to that other pair of boots as dreams tend to omit things, flips to new scene, and I’m still wearing the traveling boots and carrying just a leather handbag (no baggage) as I hop a train.

I really liked those traveling boots, and not only because they looked so grand on me. They made me feel so confident and I could move with ease, as if freed of all disability. Maybe they are magical?

As for the art, they are gouche paintings, each 2.5×3.5 inches cut from a painting done just puttering around while babysitting my infant grandson and his 8 year old uncle over the weekend. (Sounds complicated? Nah, it just make me a young step-great-grandmother by future marriage.) The 8 year old loves art, so we broke out the gouche. The words were later added with Polychromos.

Thanks for reading this blog and viewing my art!

If you are into dreams, do boots mean anything?



Cognitive Dreams

Drifting in and out of dreams, I became aware of cognitive therapy occurring as I sleep. An oh, I should try to remember this, write it down when fully awake, this is great… and of course, it all fades away after my feet hit the floor and all I am left with is dream fragments. That’s okay. It tickles me that my mind is sifting and sorting its own way, wrapping itself around new ideas, and positively reinforcing my efforts of recovery with supportive dreams.

For example, one of several dreams last night was about shooting the sky. I blasted the hell out of a veil of limitations, watched it shatter into a shower of pink and gray and white confetti, then felt the warmth of the sun under a pretty blue sky while filled with a knowing that some of my perceived limitations are only illusions.

Another example? This one didn’t have a voice over, no awareness of the meaning inside the dream, but thinking about it after I woke up makes me think that it had a meaning. It was a dream about a dress.

Okay, it was a strange dream that I had a couple nights ago about taking a little vacation to meet up with a friend and not having enough time to pack a bag so I arrived with no clothes. Then, as dreams flip, I am in this mall but it is not really a mall, and I’m saying, “help me, I have no clothes.” And these two guys take me in and doll me up, head to toe, dress me in this gold brocade, a heavy woven little dress adorned with beads and glitter, kind of cut like the mini dress that came on a doll I got for Christmas when I was ten years old, but with short sleeves. It was cute. They did my hair and makeup, strapped sexy shoes on my feet, and spun me to the mirror. The hair dresser admired his own work and said, “Darling, you look fabulous!” And I did. Then I am with my friend, that sweet beautiful man (so rare to dream of him) and no, it was not a sexual dream (drats!), more like a post-sexual dream as I am there trying to put this dress back on and he is just watching me with a contained smile, as if my effort somewhat amuses him. He doesn’t say a word. I’m like fighting with this dress. I can’t put it on. There is no stretch in the dress so I can’t wiggle into it or twist it around to reach the zipper that runs the whole length of the back, like a jacket zipper from neck to hem. I can’t put it on by myself, can’t zip it by myself, so I panic. What am I going to do? I have absolutely nothing else to wear and I can’t walk out wearing the dress unzipped, like a gapped open hospital gown. I’m doing all these things trying to get this dress on and woke up from this bizarre dream thinking duh, why didn’t I ask for help? Hey, zip me please?

So, maybe I will learn something from my dreams, like it is okay to ask for help, we can’t always do everything on our own, and sometimes our limitations are only illusions.