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dreamed 2008/9/1 by Wayan.
Deep violet sky. A dry-grass plain.
A few scattered walkers, each alone--
or so they seem.
But these folk can absorb your mind,
sip your skills and turn your I
to their own.
So each lone figure on the prairie
rules a humanoid bestiary
caged in bone.
Their power's in an organ called a sorb
rising on a stalk above the brow, like
a crab's eye-orb
but tipped with Venus-trap or anglerfish-lure.
If it aims at you, dear fly, beware!
Best keep far.
A Sorb girl nears me. I yell "I'm foreign!
Not here to fight!" She smiles in scorn,
aims her organ.
I lack a dish but somehow counterpush--
will my will block hers? And to my shock
I can--with pain.
I just want to bind her assault on me,
yet can I stay back if she sorbs Sorbs?
It is their way.
If I blunted her claws, would she be safe?
Won't other Sorbs see her as prey if she's
lost her juice?
And you can't be half-free! I gulp and say:
"I'll unbind you fully. Let's just
agree on truce!
Leave my mind alone, and I'll leave yours!"
Walk side by side, no mental leash? To her,
a mad mystery.
Among the rocks, more Sorbs. I cry my truce
in the simplest slogan I can frame:
"Freedom, not mastery."
For I just want to wander in gold sun.
Hike red crags and canyons, shouting
peace at everyone.
I make some inroads, too: slowly truce becomes
understood if rare; people now (alert, aware)
convene for fun!
No choice before, but now they know that war
could be forgone. I think "Not full peace, but
I did some good!
A ceasefire in sorb hell." I wake up proud.
Hard shamanic work (some pay would help):
the best I could.
- Sorbs: from A Voyage To Arcturus by David Lindsay, a very Blakean book of a pilgrim in a bizarre world, changing his body with each new day, trying on ways of life like clothes. Harold Bloom's Flight to Lucifer is a Lindsay rip-off (oh, sorry, an uncredited tribute.)
- Desert, possession, cruelty, rebellion not just Lindsay's book! I also reread William Blake's poem "The Mental Traveler" today--a bizarre symbolic parable set in a desert where enslaved kids grow up to enslave their enslavers. I've never been sure if it's about the evolution of a psyche ruled by a different force at each stage, or of a soul through multiple lifetimes, or of personality-types shaped by societies in different stages of development. But it always felt circular, tormented--tearing at the chains of the past but never really breaking free. My dream rebelled against Blake's pessimism!
- Freedom, not mastery: the first aliens David Lindsay introduces us to are sort of Buddhist/Hindu/Gandhians: a carefully harmless people. Hippies! Lindsay dismisses them as moral children unaware they serve the devil; he says even the dog-eat-dog sorbs know more. My dream disagrees: sees capitalists (oh, sorry, sorbs) as so stuck in predation's tar-pit they can't crawl out on their own.
- Who are the Sorbs?
- Exploitive parts of me? Or at least cynical parts of me--as a kid, I was shunned and beaten up in school, so I do assume lots of people are mean. The dream could be trying to heal those scars. But... many of my symbolic-looking dreams later manifest literally, so I'm slow to assume these Sorbs are only symbols of psychological or social forces a la Blake or Lindsay...
- What if it's literal? Maybe I really was just a shaman doing volunteer work, saving lives on a dry world with a little gold sun.
- Old World people under grim regimes? Sorb societies fill the news. Non-democracies full of sectarian war and oppression. Was it Adam Smith who called it "the war of all against all"? Or what if the Sorbs are...
- The ids of the Bush Administration, acting out their lovely neocon vision... Nah, no way! The desert of their dreams has oil.
- This is Dreamverse #20. Every day, a dream-poem--usually. But a few nights back I had SIX vivid dreams in one night. Whew! This is the third and last one I'll present as a Dreamverse (the others are #18, Mare-Kin Graveyard, and #19, Time-Bubble). Too busy for my own good! From now on it's one a week.
LISTS AND LINKS:
other worlds -
multiple personalities -
freedom and slavery -
deserts and oases -
helping and giving - an even more effective do-gooder: Clairity in
Easter Healing - I wasn't joking about
psychic dreams -
dream poems in general -
pencil dream-art -
William Blake - the same night:
Ancient Mare-Kin Graveyard and
Dreamverses project - the next Dreamverse,
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