by Robin Byrd
In my dreams the other night, I met my twin aunts. They were happy together; they were young again – just turned thirty – the age where I first took note of them and mother, who was thirty-two. I had wanted to make sure I remembered them as they were because they were getting old. They were no longer in their twenties. I was too young to know thirty is not old. They were laughing and asked me what I was doing there. “Visiting,” I said.
I am not sure why I dreamed of them. I will look into it further later. This is the second dream I’ve had in as many months where I was seeking out someone in a hidden place and being asked, “What are you doing here?” Again, I was visiting.
The places were nearly identical in that they were located in some sort of festival-like place, either underground or in a hidden realm. The atmosphere reminded me of the festivals we used to have in my school gymnasium when I was in grade school.
My biggest questions are: why am I visiting the dead, and why are they at festivals?
I am wondering if it has anything to do with my break from writing plays. While reworking some pieces, I have not started anything new outside of my deep inner process. Which, as I think on it more, may be where the dreams are coming from.
I am also wondering if it is time to shift back to writing plays again. Lately, I have been delving into alternative poetic styles of expression. I am also starting to lose interest in things other than story. I’m obsessed with research, knowing that the fodder will be used in something one day. I have got to get away. I need to get away lest I drown in an overabundance of stories cutting off my air, lest I bust due to the worlds growing within me fighting to be born.
Anticipating the many new branches growing from my tree of life, I am excited for the coming days. I look forward to many new birth dates and an answer to why I am visiting the dead in my dreams…
