Monthly Archives: September 2013


A unifying or coherent form or structure

I'm going to read three poems

The undulating floorboards of a classroom – gentle moguls of my dream – smooth as silk, worn smooth through use, having been beautifully constructed to begin with. Months later I see the real thing has manifested in Puebla, Mexico, made by Ten Architectos: a park covered in undulating wood. I have imagined that in walking the floor of my dreams one would be compelled to give over to the rolling movement of creativity, of sensuality, dance, of child’s play, rolling over smooth wooden hummocks, lying on these reclines, inclines, inclined to read a book, or roll over and talk to a friend, roll over and look at the new horizon. The floor leads to the outside, does not require a ceiling.

Recently I experienced beautiful dream architecture seen mirrored in huge windows – generous gothic arches – exquisite – detail – materials – height.

I cannot describe these things because they are to be experienced and I know in the dream that the beauty is to be embodied – because how else can we take it with us? I say out loud, “Don’t you just want to take it with you!?” And there is mystery in the reflection. In my awake mind I am wondering if the meaning of reflection in that dream represents projection – the mystery of how we sometimes get it right while coming from the single point perspective of the small human, loving heart. Well, if I could – if I could – if I could share that moment with you, I would say, “It’s like we are young and going forward in that way that young legs propel, and the youthful hunger for experience keeps heading for the possible.
“In the dream I say out loud, “Oh, I will be so glad to finally start!”

Then there are the dream buildings that I am supposed to drop from – just let go:

The condo tower 10-15 stories high. My dead father shows me how – just step off and down he goes into the marina where the huge, black fish is curious about the oblivious diver. I am afraid of the fall and want to take the elevator, but there is confusion about which goes up and which goes down. The young woman is helping me find my ID and shoes to get on the plane.

The old stone structure that is right beside the river. The boy says, “Well,” and just drops straight down into the river, makes himself comfortable in the current examining the bedrock. The earth quakes and there is an exodus of ships leaving the coast.

In another dream there are ships off which the tourists are stepping – dropping straight down into the ocean from a great height.

All the classroom dreams:

The oppressive private school with the pretend magic and the trickster stairwells. One threatens to dump me out the window down to the parking lot. Illusions.

The classrooms that continue to morph with fewer walls, opening out into nature.

The students are distracting me with music and coloured light. By the glass-walled classroom the Maori teacher has all the staff sing me an apology. I feel silly, but it helps.

The young man released from the classroom to the streets brings me back my natural medicines and essential oil that have been opened in such a way that they cannot be closed. He holds them out to me. He is fed up with my dithering.

Let go of the structure, free the students from my angst and resentment and confusion.

Drop into the water.

So much is possible, is happening. Embodying it, taking it with you.