Dreamed 1988/8/30 by Chris Wayan
Caribbean treasure hunt. We divers float
in pale blue shafts of light by jagged wall:
impromptu reef where the liner tore apart.
She bore a fortune in gems. They spilled
So we sound blue holes beneath--but they're
Some Caribbean holiday! I'm the only girl
I'm scuba-trained, but I free-dive;
A few yards down is a pool of sky
Local legend claims such blue holes are
My breath lasts two minutes--too brief
I float, magenta minnow, down stairwell, hall,
I wriggle into cyan dusk. Light on.
Wry, tight lips spit me into a hall
But I smell danger. No, taste. My tongue
As I turn to flee, a diver-silhouette:
a man. Limp, still. Alive or dead?
I go blank--next thing I know,
Still losing! So dreamy I forgot the man I saw,
"A guy down there, unconscious, we
gotta rescue him!" They're skeptical but
a headcount shows the Russian's son,
youngest on board but me, is gone.
Can I find my exit, squeeze inside,
Won't know until I find my way back
NOTES ON WAKING UP
[2015 note: Doctors and therapists all assumed my pain was psychosomatic not medical, but my anima kept telling me in dreams "Don't trust grownup experts--test it yourself." So I tried wild hypotheses. Took several more years, but when I quit eating gluten, instant cure! Sex suddenly stopped hurting. She really did save my inner guy. Eventually.]
TEN MINUTES LATER...
I get up to find our water heater broke during the night. The utility room has a lagoon of rusty water. I splash over to the heater, kneel and peer into the pilot-light chamber underneath, looking for the leak. And see... the grotto in my dream! A rusty pool, round walls, slight sulfurous smell, and dim greenish light from the holes around the sides. The rusted-out metal even matches the color and texture of the cavern's rocks!
Spooky. How'd the dream know?
27 YEARS LATER...
Hmm. So dreamwork without ideological baggage lets you explore depths that gear-laden guys could never reach! And what if those depths aren't just psychological, but shamanic? By 'shamanic' I mean intuition/luck/sychronicity that (even if not provably paranormal) is functionally indistinguishable from ESP. For centuries that was the point of dreamwork--you want a tribal shaman with good hunches; never mind how s/he dreams them up!
I now suspect this is one of dreaming's core functions. Below the merely psychological reefs--waking-world corridors that have "suffered a sea-change / into something rich and strange"--lie deeper grottos. Dangerously disorienting, but in their altered state you scent warnings you never could, up in the realm of rational men.
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