Something That Happened.

This morning I awoke from a dream in which Joy and I had both realized that we shared an admiration for Queensryche's song "Silent Lucidity". We were listening to the song, or it was playing in the background of the dream we were both inhabiting, or perhaps Joy and I were merely thinking of the song at the same time: she told me that she wanted the album, too, somehow knowing that I'd been wanting the record. So I made certain to locate the album at a record store which, as far as I know, only exists in my mind.



For some reason I often dream of the house on Fair Park, Joy's house: it's (to my child-memory) vast yards, the shaded front porch, the cool interior and hardwood floors. In my dreams, I recall a record player inhabiting a large wooden encasement; this marvelous appliance was located near the entrance to the house. I recall L.A. Dodgers paraphernalia decorating the area near the unit, a memory which may stem from a Big Blue Wrecking Crew record Joy kept somewhere near the record player. I recall an adventurous kitchen in which assorted delights were prepared and lovely conversations shared over a pull-down ironing board. (Did the latter item really exist or is it a figment of my imagination?) I remember the sound of the kitchen sink, the bathtub, the porch door, the hardwood floors, the backyard hose, the glorious television. I recall the sound of the clothes dryer providing the soundtrack to playing on the cool grass of the back yard, all the while avoiding running into a bird pond fixture which always seemed to be gathering more and more colorful residue. The smell (and taste) of popcorn: cuddling up on a couch to watch a movie.



Joy there, possessing this house, bestowing her love on its living room, its sleeping rooms, its hallway, its cool corners, its hot pockets. Embracing the sunlight's slivery rays through the shadowy spaces. Covering a blank fridge with her personality: it's a magnet for her love. Ornamenting an empty windowsill with trinkets reflecting her sense of style: an artful treatment toward this cherished house. Joy there now, sweet voice emanating, welcoming friends, neighbors (soon-to-be-friends), friend's friends. This woman, an energy lifting spirits, imbibing spirits, cultivating love through honest participation with others. Joy there again, following her heart, which is always pure.



My friend, my other mother. We were once engaged: Joy and I were to marry one day, but then she found the real man of her dreams. Ah, so it goes...but I can still find my joy: in my own dreams, and by putting myself to sleep, silently lucid.

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