Posted by: normanlgreen | August 1, 2011

Waking Words, August 1 2011


Dream, waking words, home 5:43 am

I hear my niece chanting a moderate tempo country blues of two-chord structure.  One un-amplified guitar
and her voice:

 

I believe in the man in black

I believe in Johnny Cash

I believe that he will come back.

I believe –  I believe

 

I believe in the resurrection

I believe in his dark complexion

I believe in his deep connection

I believe  –  I believe.

 

Waking words are the phrases that sound in my head while passing through the liminal space, the transition between sleep and the state of knowledge that I have been asleep.  Frequently these are the last words spoken to me by one of the dream inhabitants.  Sometimes only fragments will surface, as in “slid into home plate with the salt.”

The longest that I can recall followed an lengthy dream concerning father figures.  It ran like this:  “born into this world, then stripped of everything he owned save the marrow of his newly-formed yet ancient bones — he chose his name in anger.”

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