Gifts of the Ghosts
I have always had great difficulty sleeping and almost never remember my dreams; from all reports, my nights are most likely fretted with horrific nightmares as I often scream, cry, and do incredible gymnastic feats in my sleep. On very rare occasions, if I wake up and then go back to sleep and wake up again, I can remember a snippet or few of a dream; usually the most I am left with is a risidual feeling that haunts me for part of the day.
This morning I dreamed of my brother. I didn't even realize it at first. I woke up, made the treacherous decent from the heights of my loft bed still somewhat asleep, and sat down in a chair with the oddest feeling that I could not place. I lit a cigarette and as I made the slow return to the land of the (partially) awake, it dawned on me that my brother was in my dream.
I must interject to say that I believe that the dead are always still around uus and show themselves in different ways, but its been quite a long time since I had any sense of my brother being anywhere near me; I've of course manufactured the sense, but its been too long since I had that true unquestionable certainty of his presence. I was always quite envious of Orphannie, who has always been able to remember her dreams with such clarity, and whose parents visit her often in dreams. I've always wanted that for myself, especially because as time goes by, I can remember less and less what he looked like, sounded like, and his particular mannerisms and inflections.
I finally got my wish. It was undeniably him, with his eyelids perpetually at half mast and his own charmingly infuriating smug smirk. In my dream he was goading me, as had always been a favorite past time of his, and I was rising to the bait, as I always inevitably did (I can stil hear my mother's heavily accented voice saying "Why do you give him your goat? Why do you let him take your goat?" - she always mixes up American expressions like that). We were on a bus of some sort, and he was sitting in the seat directly begind me. I became so incensed, in the way that only my brother could make me incensed, and I turned around and shrieked at him like a wild banshee at a feeding frenzy. I remember I grabbed his chin and twisted it and it was unusually malleable. He merely laughed at me, eyes twinkling mischieviously in victory, and said "Oh Synge-Pooh, poor poor Synge-Pooh". I turned back around, pouting like a petulant child, and suddenly the whole interaction was replayed on all of the movie screens on the bus. It was our exact exchange, only even more exaggerrated and extreme. It was incredibly comical, and the whole bus roared, and I began to laugh at myself as well. I turned around and looked back at my brother, who was laughing in such a loving and knowing and protective of his baby sister way, and I grabbed his hand and we laughed together.
My brother used to chide me on a regular basis for taking myself way too seriously; a fault I have made great strides in overcoming, but can sometimes still creep in unheeded. Whenever I called in tears or anger about one little insignificant thing or another (as one is prone to do in their early 20's), he would say "Okay, what's the crise du jour this time?" (translation= crisis of the day), which wounded my pride and ego and made me even more upset. As I have grown older and hopefully a bit wiser, I understand and appreciate his mockery of my constant "Crise du Jour"s. I even mock myself with the same phrase when I find I am blowing things out of proportion or taking myself too seriously. I am thankful for his loving sarcasm; it was a gift.
The more I sat with this dream, the more sense it has made. I have been taking everything way too seriously lately, myself included. For whatever reason, my brother was reminding me to laugh at myself and life; to find the joy and lightness of things.
This dream, this visit, has left me with the sweetest sadness - like laughing with a lump in yuor throat. Its not a bad sadness at all; it was so wonderful to see him again, to so clearly see and hear him. It was a quietly thrilling reunion. I am also so touched and comforted in knowing that he's still keeping tabs on me, still there to remind me of the things I mustn't forget and still answering the phone when I call with one crise du jour or another. I feel comforted and protected and loved and forgiven, and that's the bautiful feeling that's stayed with me all day. At the same time, seeing him in such vivid detail and so undeniably himself as he was in life has made me miss him with renewed acuity, in the kind of sugared sadness way that sits somewhat lightly in your chest but makes you aware of it with every breath; there is no pressure or sharp pain, but rather a light straining of all the muscles as if to stretch and make enough room for the complexity of many emotions at once. Its like trying to give yourself a hug internally and thus straining and gently tearing the muscles of the chest and throat in the process.
I am so thankful for this visit, this dream, this presence...this gift.
This morning I dreamed of my brother. I didn't even realize it at first. I woke up, made the treacherous decent from the heights of my loft bed still somewhat asleep, and sat down in a chair with the oddest feeling that I could not place. I lit a cigarette and as I made the slow return to the land of the (partially) awake, it dawned on me that my brother was in my dream.
I must interject to say that I believe that the dead are always still around uus and show themselves in different ways, but its been quite a long time since I had any sense of my brother being anywhere near me; I've of course manufactured the sense, but its been too long since I had that true unquestionable certainty of his presence. I was always quite envious of Orphannie, who has always been able to remember her dreams with such clarity, and whose parents visit her often in dreams. I've always wanted that for myself, especially because as time goes by, I can remember less and less what he looked like, sounded like, and his particular mannerisms and inflections.
I finally got my wish. It was undeniably him, with his eyelids perpetually at half mast and his own charmingly infuriating smug smirk. In my dream he was goading me, as had always been a favorite past time of his, and I was rising to the bait, as I always inevitably did (I can stil hear my mother's heavily accented voice saying "Why do you give him your goat? Why do you let him take your goat?" - she always mixes up American expressions like that). We were on a bus of some sort, and he was sitting in the seat directly begind me. I became so incensed, in the way that only my brother could make me incensed, and I turned around and shrieked at him like a wild banshee at a feeding frenzy. I remember I grabbed his chin and twisted it and it was unusually malleable. He merely laughed at me, eyes twinkling mischieviously in victory, and said "Oh Synge-Pooh, poor poor Synge-Pooh". I turned back around, pouting like a petulant child, and suddenly the whole interaction was replayed on all of the movie screens on the bus. It was our exact exchange, only even more exaggerrated and extreme. It was incredibly comical, and the whole bus roared, and I began to laugh at myself as well. I turned around and looked back at my brother, who was laughing in such a loving and knowing and protective of his baby sister way, and I grabbed his hand and we laughed together.
My brother used to chide me on a regular basis for taking myself way too seriously; a fault I have made great strides in overcoming, but can sometimes still creep in unheeded. Whenever I called in tears or anger about one little insignificant thing or another (as one is prone to do in their early 20's), he would say "Okay, what's the crise du jour this time?" (translation= crisis of the day), which wounded my pride and ego and made me even more upset. As I have grown older and hopefully a bit wiser, I understand and appreciate his mockery of my constant "Crise du Jour"s. I even mock myself with the same phrase when I find I am blowing things out of proportion or taking myself too seriously. I am thankful for his loving sarcasm; it was a gift.
The more I sat with this dream, the more sense it has made. I have been taking everything way too seriously lately, myself included. For whatever reason, my brother was reminding me to laugh at myself and life; to find the joy and lightness of things.
This dream, this visit, has left me with the sweetest sadness - like laughing with a lump in yuor throat. Its not a bad sadness at all; it was so wonderful to see him again, to so clearly see and hear him. It was a quietly thrilling reunion. I am also so touched and comforted in knowing that he's still keeping tabs on me, still there to remind me of the things I mustn't forget and still answering the phone when I call with one crise du jour or another. I feel comforted and protected and loved and forgiven, and that's the bautiful feeling that's stayed with me all day. At the same time, seeing him in such vivid detail and so undeniably himself as he was in life has made me miss him with renewed acuity, in the kind of sugared sadness way that sits somewhat lightly in your chest but makes you aware of it with every breath; there is no pressure or sharp pain, but rather a light straining of all the muscles as if to stretch and make enough room for the complexity of many emotions at once. Its like trying to give yourself a hug internally and thus straining and gently tearing the muscles of the chest and throat in the process.
I am so thankful for this visit, this dream, this presence...this gift.
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 3:00 PM
4 Comments:
wow!
This is a beautiful entry. I'm so glad you had that experience. Not to mention sharing it with us.
Anyway,I was just visiting to see what you were up to and to say...hi.
This was indeed, to quote a previous comment, a beautiful entry. You have such a great way, both soulful and comedic, of expressing yourself. Seriously- you should write a book. You could call it, "The Credit is Gone and He is Emotionally Unavailable".
If I can turn it into a play - a one woman comedic tour de force I'd be golden. Any ideas on how the hell to do that and make it something people would pay money to see?
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