After recording the dreams, I am just lying here awake and thinking of M whose braids are very long now. She is wearing them in four long ropes like the original dream in which these wrapped around C and I could not cut them apart. And, last night I saw how she had posted a Russian decapitation post the very night I (EYE) had the dream of the three heads bobbing face down in the shallow, metal sink!
If I have any real connection (I do) to this unfolding story it is Biblical in nature to those bizarre dreams that make up the book of Revelations and then I think there are those Christians, I seem to remember, a branch off of Pentecostal(?) who do not believe in, or read the book of Revelations though it sits right there in the end of their Bibles—or at least most Bibles?
I thought of a poem in hypnopompic, Jesus and Angel (On-hell) in Spanish, because these people freely name kids sacred names with no apology.
Jesus (Hay-soos), who in 7th grade health-class would press the pink eraser end of his pencil into the side of my tender and just grown boob. I wore the tightest t-shirts I could find to show off the new swelling and I guess because I didn’t grab and break his pencil that first time, (because it did send a pleasant shock through my armpit, down the side of my body and into my underpants), it happened more and more until it became annoying.
But, when I finally did raise my hand and make a stink, the fat teacher (teaching Health of all subjects, I thought she ought to be fired!) just for that, turned on me. Said that I was in the middle of trouble wherever it went, and I became the aim of all of her blame as if this little, Mexican boy named Jesus could ever be at fault! After all, I was the intelligent, tall, white girl, bred to example and peace-make.
He shrugged and didn’t seem to mind a bit her referencing him as inept, incapable, just a boy that meant nothing, but had to be there for the vision of equalities sake.
And, I had the nightmares then and I still have them now.
At some point, the Lamanites will become the chosen, bloom like their red roses, that's what my church said, but for now they are being corralled and caged, killed by drug lords and their own cops and a white man with a butt-hole mouth builds his walls of force so that today my Mexican high school students ask,
“But now who will clean the hotels and do dishes at restaurants?”
And, that is the top of any mountain Christian, (his name), has ever seen to dream!
Photo Credit: Guillaume Groult/unsplash
