July 27, 2005 - 10:00 am

Emily Dickinson ain�t got nothin� on me.

Okay, maybe she does, but listen to what I dreamed last night anyway:

I walked through the back door of an old house and into a ballroom, only instead of hardwood flooring or carpeting, the floor was grass, like a big manicured lawn. In the far corner, where a fireplace might be, stood a huge gray granite slab. I walked over to the stone and lifted up the sod in front of it like a heavy blanket. I climbed all the way in, down under the dirt and pulled the blanket of sod completely over my head. It was so cool and heavy and dark, and I was so tired that I fell sound asleep and slept more soundly than I could remember ever having slept before. I could see the room now from above, and I watched as the lump where my body was sank slowly down, so that the ground became flat again. That�s when I realized I was looking at a headstone. I woke up suddenly with my heart racing and pulled the thick grass blanket off my face. I sat upright, hit with daylight coming in through the windows. Specks of dust floated like glitter suspended in sunbeams, and I felt I was young again � maybe 15 or 16 years old � and my spirit was light as air. I crawled out from under the ground and padded lightly out of the house in bare feet and a white gown, just like I was floating, and the screen door latched behind me.

Hopeful optimism or macabre despair? Beats the hell out of me, but, seriously, either way, my subconscious has left me underwhelmed yet again with its startling originality. Enough with the cliche imagery already!

Death is a Dialogue between
Emily Dickinson

Death is a Dialogue between
The Spirit and the Dust.
"Dissolve" says Death � The Spirit "Sir
I have another Trust" �

Death doubts it � Argues from the Ground �
The Spirit turns away
Just laying off for evidence
An Overcoat of Clay.

~Samantha

recommended:
reading -Emily Dickinson
viewing - Dead Man
listening -Five Leaves Left by Nick Drake

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