WHERE'S IT COME FROM?
Dreamed 1995/3/19 by Chris Wayan
I'm walking around my neighborhood, feeling lonely. Why am I an outsider? Can I change? Do I want to?
Where'd my obsessions come from? All these animal people in my dreams. And genius girls. Shamans and shapeshifters. Why does meeting gods and spirits get me feeling playful, affectionate, sexy? Most humans see sacredness and the occult as serious and scary. Teasing and flirting with gods and spooks... it's perverse, even sacrilegious.
What early experiences create an obsession with telepathic coyotes and planets full of talking owls? Other kids who see dogs fucking don't dream that they're in love with a werewolf. Or are werewolves themselves.
Telepathic pickup from the neighbors--and their pets? Some genetic or hormonal oddity? Past lives? What? Even my dreams don't seem to know. For a long time I thought they knew but wouldn't tell me: either I wasn't ready, or some inner saboteur wanted the truth to stay hidden.
But now I think their confusion is sincere. Even my soul doesn't know why my soul is different.
Even this puzzled meditation right now is a dream, I realize, as I wake...
IN THE MORNING
IN THE MORNING
Waking hardly changes a thing! I lie in bed, recalling my earliest dreams, gnawing at them for a scrap of an answer. They were deeply shamanic as far back as I can remember, long before I had words for my difference. Even my early recurrent nightmares were out-of-body. Where does all this come from?
My dreams find me as puzzling as everyone else does... and that may be as much of an answer as I'm ever going to get.
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