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Dreamed 2018/10/18 by Wayan
My mom always told us she had a miscarriage a year or two after having me. Now we learn it's a lie. She had a daughter named Jill who lived years. Not to adulthood; her death affected us surviving siblings profoundly. Shaped us, really. Yet we consciously forgot Jill. Buried her memory and bought the family story.
Why? Slowly I learn that Jill had a guardian angel. I do too of course--her name's Silky. Maybe they helped to blot the painful memory.
Was that wise? Even sane? It never occurred to me to ask what the early death of a ward does to the guardian.
Turns out it isn't good. I see a TV interview with the angel--though it's part simulation. Behind angel and interviewer is a green screen, so backgrounds can be pasted in later. It's distracting--way too bright, a green scream. I turn down the saturation on my TV till it's bearable. Now I can hear...
What I hear's grim. Jill's death has made her guardian angel slowly come apart. Psychologically, yes, it's visible even before angel speaks--hesitant, teary, blindsided repeatedly by waves of loss.
But he's also coming apart physically--actually fading. Ragged holes show that terrible green right through him. Angelic immune collapse! Do angels who fail their guardianship DIE? Yes or no, their fade-out tatters reality--and memory.
Yikes. I better stay healthy--do my best not to die on my guardian. Protection--and vulnerability--work both ways. Who guards our guardian angels? We do.
NOTES AT DAWN
- Miscarriage vs. living sibling: my mom did miscarry. Did it affect her more than I realize? Was she different before? If so, I was too young to see.
- A death shaped our family, but is it true? In Wen Spencer's Elfhome Project, Jane's haunted by her vanished little sister Boo. Who, it turns out, may be alive.
- Jill: I saw songwriter Jill Sobule's name today. But the Jill that meant most to me was in my dance improv class years ago--big crush on her. She too was a musician. So Jill = love, music or both. I missed out on love; that deprivation shaped me. But music too. And that one's fixable faster!
- ACTION: work up some music to record. Call Stephen the engineer, make a date... push myself.
- Emotional breakdown: on The Good Place, a flashback--Elizabeth suddenly saw that other moms love & protect their kids; she breaks down in tears. Her unloving, unreliable mom trained her to mistrust. My flaky parents weren't as bad, but they did make me cautious.
- Angels can die: on The Good Place Michael the fallen angel faces he might die... and freaks! Ageless, death was never real to him.
- Green screen, too intense: for my dream A World Too Weird for Words, I drew a green dollar sign over alt Earth. So green = money???? Poor fit. I don't get it.
Our library notifies me a book I want is here--dream-artist Paul Nash's autobiography. Walk up to get it. But what they hand me isn't Paul Nash--it's Wood Sprites by Wen Spencer--a gleefully pulpy science fiction novel! Rather than tell them it's an error I take it home and read it. When the universe elbows me, I listen.
The Wood Sprites are twin sisters, prodigies, growing up in New York City, unaware they're adopted; they're fascinated with Elfhome, an alternate Earth, about which little is known yet. They do impressive web research and stage the results as comic videos--they animate Barbie dolls in front of a green screen, so they can draw in Elf backgrounds later. Except... their videos uncannily predict real news from Elfhome--their wild guesses have a psychic edge. They're unaware they have millions of webfans.
The book's full of uncomfortable parallels to my real family & life.
Every point above fits the Wood Sprites and me, equally. Still, they're complex psychological parallels. Hard to rate their likelihood. I can see skeptics calling them all chance. Except point number five.
- a tight sibling knot of child prodigies
- a streak of ESP in the family for generations
- the mix of brains & ESP alienating teachers & classmates, leaving them isolated
- web-famous, but unaware, as they ignore social media--they just like to make goofy art about elves.
How could a psychic hit be more explicit? A rare, unlikely image, sure, but also lurid; eye-searing. I knew the dream was flaunting it, flagging it as vital.
- That lurid green screen behind a mix of human & nonhuman actors!
Sure, call that chance. Call me a turnip, too.
NOTES, REVISED IN A GREENISH LIGHT
- Greenscreen = genius? do-it-yourselfism? isolation? fame? ignorance of fame? ESP? Or all those!
- Family shaped by death, missing sibling: predictive too. The Wood Sprites' adoptive parents & birthmom's first husband all died at orders of their murderous grampa, an exiled dictator plotting a comeback. The twins seek older siblings they never knew, Tinker & Oilcan, and rescue their younger siblings, mere eggs in a corporate freezer about to be destroyed; they steal the eggs and set a spell so the unborn spirits can use temporary robotic toy bodies. I told you it was pulpy. Pulp goooooood!
- ACTION: well, stay healthy--I'm less isolated than I think; dying'd hurt more than just me. What else? Use intuition not logic to steer my life! Since the dream used such a vivid psychic hit to prove just how strong that intuition is.
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