The Stuff of Dreams

“We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” from The Tempest, by William Shakespeare

This collection is similar to that characterized as “Memories” in the personal histories section, but they are less like memories than dreams. They are intensely personal to me, but I offer them to you as samples, because I cannot share publicly the intimate thoughts and dreams of others.

If you wish to express and record your own emotional response to events and people in your life, be it grief, gratitude or joy, but have difficulty doing so, I can help you. I’m not hard to reach. I’ll listen, and we’ll work on it together.

  • Against the Flowing Sea of the Sky - I stood there for long minutes, lost in contemplation of the mystery of the house. Why? What was I absorbing from that perfect, white and empty widow’s walk?
  • Heidi - My sister, Heidi, was born in the spring along with bunny rabbits and robins, daffodils and daisies. As a child, she was the very incarnation of Easter and of morning. She was the storybook Heidi...
  • Lorelei - As I was walking the seawall bordering the Rea estate, I must have glimpsed a bit of white in my peripheral vision, for I stopped on the seawall and turned and saw her. She was sitting on a bench overlooking a small gold-fish pond in a tropical garden. The curves of her body were liquid, graceful as cool, slow-curling milk.
  • October Rain - Mother was painting their apartment when Daddy came through the door with an expectant grin.  Smiling, she put down her paint brush and walked into his arms. His first thought was to tell his mother. So they left the apartment and walked up Green Street to Grandmother’s house.
  • Recipe for a Paradisaic - A Paradisiac is a natural remedy for earthly anxieties and the illnesses arising therefrom. It is made by mixing warm, tropical sunshine with floury white sand and sparkling seawater. Toss with coconut palms and top with a margarita.
  • Red December White December - People are complex. We carry within us the dark seeds of our own destruction. At the core of an apple, for instance, protected by sharp-edged pods, are the regenerative seeds of the fruit, but the small, black seeds contain minute traces of cyanide.
  • The Waltz - “I danced with Daddy last night.”

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