Jilara (jilara) wrote,

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In the Realm of Lost Things

My dreams lately have wandered back into territory more familiar in my teen years. I have been having long strolls in the lost past, through most of the night, the past few weeks. The amazing mystical woods, the huge medieval libraries, the houses part real houses I have known, part W.R. Hearst's warehouses, in terms of amazing goodies stashed here and there (I used to joke that my father's garage, which had more than a few of Hearst's items in it, was the equivalent of the warehouse of holding, anyway). But in these dreams, I'm pulling out sketches I made of fantasy worlds I'd invented, when I was 14. I'm remembering dreams I had when I was ten, inside the dream, then remembering them all, when I wake from the first dream.

And the place is sometimes populated with lost people, or maybe people who aren't quite the people they were, like my father. My father has shown up the past couple nights, like his angel-twin, the good part of my father, all the things that I and his friends loved about him. He's vivacious, charming, tells wonderful stories. No nasty put-downs, no abusive edges, no runaway temper, no tantrums, no slightly-schizo edges. The genius without the evil genius. And my mother is beautiful, talented, athletic, and all the best parts of her, without the insecurities and neuroses and depression. Last night, my father and I went to a reception at the Getty Museum, in a huge limo, with some of his Hollywood friends in attendance. And he was wonderful company, and didn't resent that I was having a better time than he was, like at so many of the parties I attended with him.

My late friend Lia has shown up a few times. I've walked a couple dogs I had when growing up. A few past cats have shown up, too.

I do hope this doesn't mean that I'm soon to join all these folks. Too many people still need me on this plane. But it's been interesting, all these things floating up from retrospectives in my dreaming mind. Sort of like having not so much one's life, but one's past Dreamtime, flashing (no, that's too fast) -- drifting before one. Especially since it hasn't had much unpleasant, except for revisiting Van Nuys Jr. High,---and not only having my locker taken away from me (I was carrying everything in a cardboard box), but having my father called in for a parent-teacher conference, because they finally figured out some of the stuff I'd been getting away with, back then. But hey... Here's to the hope that dreaming in the Realm of Lost Things continues.

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