The Burial

 

We buried our very old Jasper cat today, my son and I. He was a few months shy of nineteen years old (the cat, not the son). We were hoping he’d get one more summer. He spent so much of the last happily curled up in a chair on the deck in the sun.

The spot we chose to bury him sat between two small willow trees and my son dug the hole, found some big rocks to mark the grave. I wrapped Jasper in an old sweatshirt with a plush lining, hood over his face.

At some point my son said, “I’ve hit clay. That’s good.” And I wondered, was it? Was it good? Why? Because the clay made a better bed or because the clay indicated an end to digging? I wanted there to be an end. And Jasper didn’t need a very big hole. There wasn’t much left of the sleek black cat he had been.

Hard to believe it in light of the time he was gone for ten days in the dead of winter. No lie. He came home smelling like oil and I decided he must’ve gotten shut up in a garage but, really who knows what happened? It was one of his adventures.

Like the other time he was gone for three whole weeks one summer – no doubt off hunting or basking in some meadow while I called his name frantically every night. I was sure he was gone for good. Three weeks is a long time for a cat to be gone.

But then he came sauntering home, over the stone wall like always, a little leaner maybe, but otherwise in prime shape. Other adventures did not end well like the time he came home without part of his tongue. No clue what happened but he was fortunate he didn’t lose more otherwise he might not have been able to eat properly. Or that awful New Years eve. I was supposed to go out to a party when something horrific happened on the deck. And Jasper was out.

Outside I found blood and tracks that were too big to be a cat. I searched in the dark and the snow, but I did not find Jasper. And I did not go to the party.

I forget when he came home, hours later or maybe even the next morning, but once again, he’d survived another adventure - unscathed.

He probably had all kinds of adventures I knew nothing of, nights beneath the stars, running, chasing, climbing, all the things cats do out in the wild.

He was a lucky cat, I think as my son shovels dirt into the grave. 

I’ll tell you one more thing, about another black cat I had named Jader. After he died (too young, I might add) I had three dreams about him. In the first dream he was alive and well and it was good. In the second dream he was sick or badly injured. And in the final dream he was dead, but his ghost remained to comfort me briefly, telling me it was okay, he was fine.

Dreaming 101

In the dream I'm at a school in a room (building?) in the back. To my right is the door I came in with a window I can see through. Directly ahead of me is another window which looks over the campus. There are trees and well kept paths and grass clipped short. Inside are the usual things, a long table where work is done, cabinets for supplies, a closet, off-white linoleum floor. The strange thing is the cake on the table, chocolate with white icing, half gone. I can see how moist it is and I want some. But then I see figures outside the glass on both sides. Figures clad in black with guns and masks. I duck down, not wanting to be seen but it's too late.

Someone is there, suddenly, inside the room. I can't see who for the mask but the black can't quite conceal the sex and she raises her weapon. We grapple and I get my arm around her throat, squeezing tight, cutting off her air until I feel her go limp and then a final twist - snap! She falls limp to the floor.

I escape out the door behind me and am soon in my car speeding away, just in time to see a massive plume of amber rise up from the school behind me...


So you see why I like to sleep...and dream.

*to learn more about dreaming, go here: Inception: Dreams, Waking, and Epistemology. 

speaking of dreaming

what do you think about using dreams? Do you use them in your writing? What about when you read about dreams in books other people have written? Like them? Hate them?

And what do you think dreams are? A mish-mash of memory, hope, and fear? Or synapses misfiring.

I forget where I read it but there was an article about dreams that basically said something to that effect. And I might have gone along with the idea if my dreams weren't so specific, so appropriate, and ultimately, revealing.

Tell me what you think about dreams, and writing.

talk about a cliffhanger!

Here’s how part one ended:


After racing up the stairs as fast as I could I yanked open a door and came out onto a rusty metal landing outside a five-story building. Worse yet, no stairs. They were gone and I was standing on a windswept landing with rickety rails above the city [did I ever mention how I don’t like heights?]. Apparently I'd been working both sides of the fence and got caught. 
Two seconds later an army green helicopter came out of nowhere.


Do you ever have dreams like stories, like you’re just plunked down in the middle knowing everything that happened before? These are my favorite dreams, because I’m never me, at least not the me I know. I get to be someone else. It’s like living another life. And the best thing about these dreams is that even if I wake I can usually go back and continue on with the story. Which is what I did.

But in part two I played a different part. I was the teenage daughter of the evil kingpin and his first lieutenant was driving me to school. I noticed a pale yellow van pull out after us and disappear into traffic. I knew they were following us but I never said a word.


As you can see, my dream life is immensely more exciting than my real life. Which is why I love to sleep…and dream.





Oh yeah, and there were some crazy explosions at the end of part two :)

Flying

When I was younger I often dreamt I could fly, either just for the fun of it or to escape from danger. My brother and I sometimes compared flying notes and it turned out that while I had to flap my arms like a bird and really work at flying he could soar effortlessly. I always wondered why that was but then I quit having dreams about flying altogether and so haven't thought much about it.

Then last week I dreamt I was flying, gliding through the air as smoothly as a bird, without flapping my arms at all. And last night I dreamt I was actually floating just above the ground, moving as fast or as slow as I liked, above the business of the street which was clogged with workers and trucks and earth moving equipment.  At first I had to weave my way between them but then I rose above them and the traffic and glided away.

I wonder what it means?

Dreaming 101

This was a dream I had:

   I am sitting in class. I am 15 years old and this is a class on bonding. Everyone else has their dogs with them, the dogs they will bond with. The teacher is telling us what breeds tend to produce stronger bonds, what characteristics are common in certain breeds, how they may behave under various circumstances, etc. I do not have my dog. Something has happened to it.
   A student asks why cats aren’t used to bond with and the teacher will explain that while a cat may allow something akin to bonding it is not a true bonding due to the independent nature of a cat. She cites a number of failed experiments and studies gone awry due to the cats’ tendency to lose interest or become interested in something else. Dogs prove better candidates due to their pack mentality and capacity for loyalty.
   My aunt has fallen ill, catatonic in fact, after being contacted (mentally) by someone of importance.
   Some years later, once I have bonded properly with my dog which accompanies me nearly everywhere and with whom I am able to share sensory perception and certain states of mind, I have been given instructions by a young man, the son of some scion, who directs me to break into the ‘observatory’? where I will use the gadget he has given me in order to retrieve certain photos, photos that show a planet or moon with darker rings around it, a portent of something unpleasant. There are two ways into this room: one, the main entrance which involves passing through the proper channels, and two the back entrance which can only be reached via a secret passageway. I have been given a key to this back door. A key I must return.
   This place, this world is a mix of technology and magic and most people seem to have a talent for one or the other. I am not sure which category I fall into.

I try to write my dreams down, and I have a number recorded, but sometimes all I want is to go back to the dream and live that other life. 
 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucid_dream
http://www.dreamviews.com/

Recurring Dreams

Sometimes I dream I'm back in school. Usually it's high school or college but it's never like it was in that the campuses are always larger, spread out over a wide area and often the buildings are twisty and Escher-like. I'm either trying to get to class and can't find my way or I've lost my schedule and don't know where I'm supposed to be or I've forgotten the combination to my locker and can't get my books. It isn't scary, but rather like when you forget to set your alarm clock correctly and wake up late or realize you've missed an important appointment.

Last night I dreamt I overslept and was late for my own birthday party and my siblings had to come to fetch me. They came in 2 cars, one a late model Ford truck driven by a stranger. Now who the heck was he and what was he doing there?