Snow & snot, dreams & memories
Saturday 11 February
Big fat snowflakes whirling through the air. Beautiful landscape: white dunes, brown/grey sky, belly full of snow, bare black tree stems, brown ponies, the forlorn lighthouse beam appearing and disappearing.
A couple on a slope, the girl tries to slide down on an orange plastic bag, "On y va!" They're laughing and I have to laugh too, the world is so different like this.
On the beach a thick layer of seashells crunches under my shoes, shells covered in snow until slow waves wash it away.
On the way back, a car with two people in it races into the parking lot next to the fort, brakes and skids a perfect half circle and drives away the same way they had come. Again I laugh out loud: they only came to play.
Everything is dark, white, grey, mysterious. People with red cheeks and hands are photographing the Zen-ish trees, the moon-like landscape.
A tiny yellow dog barks and dances around, scaring the ponies*, a toddler dressed in black and bright yellow neon flops down on the ground and starts making snow angels wherever he can.
A postcard come to life, a wonderful walk in white.
Happiness.
(*) Every time I write the word ponies I want to add: "You can ride them, you can date them, you can grab them by the pony". Thanks, guys!
everysecondcounts.eu
=> Europe => Netherlands
Sunday 12 February
A woman is skeptical about my talks with someone about previous lives. She has a photo of me talking to that person and says there's someone in the photo I might recognize.
I'm thinking of one face. I see the photo, bow my head to the table and weep; there's +- 8 figures in white, from small to tall: my angel choir, my company. They're floating in the top right half of the photo, a bit higher than the two other figures.
(Jack the Ripper victims? Like me? All those belly issues, sex hurts as if getting stabbed with a knife, I could have become a prostitute, my fascination with serial killers.)
=> This 'explanation' was written while still half asleep.
Monday 13 or Tuesday 14 February
Sitting at a picknick table in front of a school building. My arms crossed, head bowed. Jed McKenna sits across from me. He is telling me things, I am listening, without looking him in the eye. On our other side, buses are coming and going.
When I look up, the sun is shining behind his head so bright I can't see his face clearly and orbs of light from the rays obscure it even further.
[22 February note: This is curious, because I always see faces in my dreams. When it's the face of a person I don't know, my mind just fills in the blank with something appropriate.
In the next bit of dream, my Greek ex appears, with a different face to point out he has changed. Even people I do know don't always have the faces they wear in real life. So why was Jed's face obscured?
It felt like he was really there, visiting, and this dream reeled me in several times. It helped during the time at my sister's, even though I have no recollection of what he said to me.]
Monday 20 February
High horse vertigo.
Opinions, oh so clever, buzzing through my skull again like flies. Maybe because the protective wall of SNOT is thinning. Sister had same symptoms as me, so I decided it's man-flu.
While I was there it got worse, waking up dizzy with drenched shirt and sleeping bag, coughing, wheezing, sneezing. Brother-in-law made dinner and served us tea and coffee, which was nice.
When I returned home I got worked up about my sister's smoking in the house, my 13 year old niece having started to smoke 'in secret', stealing their tobacco (which they care about more than her health), et cetera. For all the criticism my sister has on our mother, she's sure turning into her in quite a few areas.
'cough' high horse 'cough'
It's such a karmic bird's nest of issues and ego. I need to withdraw my energy and nose-poking from their family business. Nothing I can do or say.
And since I'm clueless when it comes to kids, I also don't know how to tell my niece she's not alone. I saw her staring out the window.
I recognized that look. Everything revolves around her mother and there's no room for her feelings.
I must withdraw. As from politics guzzling, it's all so addictive and no-one benefits. They have their... things to deal with, I have mine. My butting in doesn't change anything for the better.
It's a nice illusion, to clench my fists and pretend I have control over what happens in the world. I don't.
I allowed my anger, then cried, and probably will again.
Anyway. I ceremoniously handed my brother-in-law the "40"-tie and nobody let snot get in the way of eating the HUGE chocolate cake I had made.
While I was washing my armpits I accidentally coughed on the family's four brand new toothbrushes, which I thought was hilarious. (Of course I poured some boiling water on them later, no harm no foul.)
When I got back, I immediately got a lot better. My weakness is other people.
Tuesday 21 February
Yielding for a long time felt like losing, admitting defeat.
Only natural after a lifetime of being pushed over and picked on and fighting for the right to exist. When yielding seems appropriate, old instincts fire up, ready for battle.
But yielding comes from strength. It's mostly small dogs who feel a need to bark and attack.
- been consciously embracing my anger and my inner aßßhole.
- told sis lots of stuff about our past she doesn't remember, and also about my urges at the time, how 'nature' beat 'nurture', thank God. About how very wrong things could have gone, had I given in to those urges.
First time I told her. All this while I was massaging her arms, legs, butt, back, shoulders, for hours on end (she's still bedridden).
Naturally there is no 'wrong', and things couldn't have turned out any other way, but you know, for conversation's sake.
- she told me something I didn't remember, which was a white van full of nuns picking us up when we were hitchhiking to Paris or some other city with a train station.
We were tiny, we were on a holiday in the south of France with our mother and her boyfriend, we fled after he put us through some horrific shit and the only thing my sister remembers which I don't, is being given a ride by a van full of nuns, and the nun driving wearing 80's Madonna-style sunglasses.
She remembers wondering whether nuns were allowed to wear something like that. It made a big impression.
Frustrating that I didn't remember something like that! (Especially with all the Louis de Funès films we watched on tv at the time.)
It rang true though.
- still able to give her massive amounts of Reiki, despite the wall of SNOT.
Wednesday 22 February
Discussing by text what could be true about our differing memories. Sis asked our mother what happened and she had a detail to add that also rings true: she took his wallet when we fled, which explains the overnight stay in a hotel with croissants and jam in the morning.
That croissant is as clear in my mind as the nun's sunglasses in my sister's, such a luxury.
What came back to me was that I was continuously humming "Sur le pont d'Avignon" without knowing what it meant.
On some points we remember different things: my mother says we 'went to the bathroom' in a restaurant and slipped out the back door, which is much scarier, and in my memory we fled the cabin when he was elsewhere.
The detail in itself is not that important, but reading the other version made me nauseous.
I've been trying to recreate that puzzle by recounting what I know for sure, as sure as one can be about memories. But doing so also creates a rut, a trail in which the wheels are kept on track, the same track over and over.
Other memories get lost by the wayside like that. Veering off the track made me nauseous. I try not to repeat these memories too often for fear of that rut deepening and losing lots of colorful stuff.
Hopefully by the time I start writing I will have full and unencumbered access to everything.
---
This was my aßßholistic approach to February 2017.
Big fat snowflakes whirling through the air. Beautiful landscape: white dunes, brown/grey sky, belly full of snow, bare black tree stems, brown ponies, the forlorn lighthouse beam appearing and disappearing.
A couple on a slope, the girl tries to slide down on an orange plastic bag, "On y va!" They're laughing and I have to laugh too, the world is so different like this.
On the beach a thick layer of seashells crunches under my shoes, shells covered in snow until slow waves wash it away.
On the way back, a car with two people in it races into the parking lot next to the fort, brakes and skids a perfect half circle and drives away the same way they had come. Again I laugh out loud: they only came to play.
Everything is dark, white, grey, mysterious. People with red cheeks and hands are photographing the Zen-ish trees, the moon-like landscape.
A tiny yellow dog barks and dances around, scaring the ponies*, a toddler dressed in black and bright yellow neon flops down on the ground and starts making snow angels wherever he can.
A postcard come to life, a wonderful walk in white.
Happiness.
(*) Every time I write the word ponies I want to add: "You can ride them, you can date them, you can grab them by the pony". Thanks, guys!
everysecondcounts.eu
=> Europe => Netherlands
Sunday 12 February
A woman is skeptical about my talks with someone about previous lives. She has a photo of me talking to that person and says there's someone in the photo I might recognize.
I'm thinking of one face. I see the photo, bow my head to the table and weep; there's +- 8 figures in white, from small to tall: my angel choir, my company. They're floating in the top right half of the photo, a bit higher than the two other figures.
(Jack the Ripper victims? Like me? All those belly issues, sex hurts as if getting stabbed with a knife, I could have become a prostitute, my fascination with serial killers.)
=> This 'explanation' was written while still half asleep.
Monday 13 or Tuesday 14 February
Sitting at a picknick table in front of a school building. My arms crossed, head bowed. Jed McKenna sits across from me. He is telling me things, I am listening, without looking him in the eye. On our other side, buses are coming and going.
When I look up, the sun is shining behind his head so bright I can't see his face clearly and orbs of light from the rays obscure it even further.
[22 February note: This is curious, because I always see faces in my dreams. When it's the face of a person I don't know, my mind just fills in the blank with something appropriate.
In the next bit of dream, my Greek ex appears, with a different face to point out he has changed. Even people I do know don't always have the faces they wear in real life. So why was Jed's face obscured?
It felt like he was really there, visiting, and this dream reeled me in several times. It helped during the time at my sister's, even though I have no recollection of what he said to me.]
Monday 20 February
High horse vertigo.
Opinions, oh so clever, buzzing through my skull again like flies. Maybe because the protective wall of SNOT is thinning. Sister had same symptoms as me, so I decided it's man-flu.
While I was there it got worse, waking up dizzy with drenched shirt and sleeping bag, coughing, wheezing, sneezing. Brother-in-law made dinner and served us tea and coffee, which was nice.
When I returned home I got worked up about my sister's smoking in the house, my 13 year old niece having started to smoke 'in secret', stealing their tobacco (which they care about more than her health), et cetera. For all the criticism my sister has on our mother, she's sure turning into her in quite a few areas.
'cough' high horse 'cough'
It's such a karmic bird's nest of issues and ego. I need to withdraw my energy and nose-poking from their family business. Nothing I can do or say.
And since I'm clueless when it comes to kids, I also don't know how to tell my niece she's not alone. I saw her staring out the window.
I recognized that look. Everything revolves around her mother and there's no room for her feelings.
I must withdraw. As from politics guzzling, it's all so addictive and no-one benefits. They have their... things to deal with, I have mine. My butting in doesn't change anything for the better.
It's a nice illusion, to clench my fists and pretend I have control over what happens in the world. I don't.
I allowed my anger, then cried, and probably will again.
Anyway. I ceremoniously handed my brother-in-law the "40"-tie and nobody let snot get in the way of eating the HUGE chocolate cake I had made.
While I was washing my armpits I accidentally coughed on the family's four brand new toothbrushes, which I thought was hilarious. (Of course I poured some boiling water on them later, no harm no foul.)
When I got back, I immediately got a lot better. My weakness is other people.
Tuesday 21 February
Yielding for a long time felt like losing, admitting defeat.
Only natural after a lifetime of being pushed over and picked on and fighting for the right to exist. When yielding seems appropriate, old instincts fire up, ready for battle.
But yielding comes from strength. It's mostly small dogs who feel a need to bark and attack.
- been consciously embracing my anger and my inner aßßhole.
- told sis lots of stuff about our past she doesn't remember, and also about my urges at the time, how 'nature' beat 'nurture', thank God. About how very wrong things could have gone, had I given in to those urges.
First time I told her. All this while I was massaging her arms, legs, butt, back, shoulders, for hours on end (she's still bedridden).
Naturally there is no 'wrong', and things couldn't have turned out any other way, but you know, for conversation's sake.
- she told me something I didn't remember, which was a white van full of nuns picking us up when we were hitchhiking to Paris or some other city with a train station.
We were tiny, we were on a holiday in the south of France with our mother and her boyfriend, we fled after he put us through some horrific shit and the only thing my sister remembers which I don't, is being given a ride by a van full of nuns, and the nun driving wearing 80's Madonna-style sunglasses.
She remembers wondering whether nuns were allowed to wear something like that. It made a big impression.
Frustrating that I didn't remember something like that! (Especially with all the Louis de Funès films we watched on tv at the time.)
It rang true though.
- still able to give her massive amounts of Reiki, despite the wall of SNOT.
Wednesday 22 February
Discussing by text what could be true about our differing memories. Sis asked our mother what happened and she had a detail to add that also rings true: she took his wallet when we fled, which explains the overnight stay in a hotel with croissants and jam in the morning.
That croissant is as clear in my mind as the nun's sunglasses in my sister's, such a luxury.
What came back to me was that I was continuously humming "Sur le pont d'Avignon" without knowing what it meant.
On some points we remember different things: my mother says we 'went to the bathroom' in a restaurant and slipped out the back door, which is much scarier, and in my memory we fled the cabin when he was elsewhere.
The detail in itself is not that important, but reading the other version made me nauseous.
I've been trying to recreate that puzzle by recounting what I know for sure, as sure as one can be about memories. But doing so also creates a rut, a trail in which the wheels are kept on track, the same track over and over.
Other memories get lost by the wayside like that. Veering off the track made me nauseous. I try not to repeat these memories too often for fear of that rut deepening and losing lots of colorful stuff.
Hopefully by the time I start writing I will have full and unencumbered access to everything.
---
This was my aßßholistic approach to February 2017.
posted by M. at 7:39 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home