Saturday, 10 April 2010


"'To be born again,' sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, 'first you have to die ....'"

- Salman Rushdie, Incipit of the Satanic Verses

Two nights ago I had a dream that has stayed so strongly with me. I was living in Mormanland, except I was a pretend Mormon. I tried so hard to be good, but kept failing. There was a guy there who was a pretend-Mormon too. We made a secret rendevouz, to meet at a hotel. Our plans got foiled by the real Mormans, my dream guy gets pushed off the hotel balcony, which gets made to look like a suicide. I repented all my sins so they wouldn't kill me. I ran to the end of town, found that the whole world wasn't made of Mormons. I went into this really dark place ... like, superdark. With all the other fucked-up souls. I could turn around but didn't. I chose to walk into the dark.

Then I woke up.

For so many years, I actively chose the darkness, in so many forms. Maybe more than I ever admit to myself. Sometimes, my sisters and I are all together; wild, maniacal laughter galore .... and they make me tell them one of my stories. And it's so terrible, we just laugh and laugh.


I wondered who my dream guy was. Maybe a guy with cool blue eyes across the other side of the world woke up at the same time and wondered who his red-haired fake Mormon woman was.


This morning, everything was in a mess. The dishwasher was broken ... so I had to wash up, like in the olden days. Dave was cranky at Tim, who went out last night. Swears he didn't get up to mischief, I laughed and said "Of course not, Timmy! You sat there reading your Bible, huh?" He didn't think it was funny.

We had no maple syrup for porridge, Rocco broke the house again, and Dave was weighed down by the Burdens of a Very Important Person. (I say, DAVE! YOU ARE NOT A BRAIN SURGEON, YOU ARE A BUILDER. He doesn't think it's funny.)

Last night I dreamt that this woman knew all of my bad, bad secrets. And was telling them to EVERYBODY. I felt so ashamed, especially when I woke up. Until, I realised that it was just the Truth. What am I scared of the Truth for?

I don't choose darkness any more, I choose the Light. I yam what I yam, shady past and all. Pffffft. So what.

It's so freeing.


I watched video hits this morning, for the first time in eons.

As soon as I switched it on, U2s "All I Want is You" came on - remember that clip? With the midget and the woman he's in love with? And he tries to impress her by going on the trapeze except he falls, but then flies out of the room. And then the funeral scene, and you think he died, but the woman actually died. Except you don't know how.

I watched that clip not long after my dads suicide, the coffin in the ground, wondering what the hell happened.

This morning I thought, what if the woman didn't die? It was just all symbolic, and it was actually a happy ending.

And then Dave told Tim to get back inside and go to bed, Max couldn't find his soccer boots, and Rocco stood there screaming because all the boys were leaving the house and he was stuck with stinky mummy.

I chose the Light.


  1. i'm always wandering if i wish for reality or that other place. is the other really the dark side? i wonder. i'm always wondering which would be better, which would be worse.

  2. Those are some powerful dreams.

    We all have our pasts. I think more of us have darkness in our past then others would think by looking at us. The darkess we have had may be varyig degrees, but once you have been there you can see and understand it in someone else.

    And shady, I think, is all relative.

  3. What an interesting dream. I would have chosen the dark, too. Better the unknown than the known where you are defective and don't belong. And need to be "fixed."

    When I read the dream I thought, well, you know ... the dark is like a trick question. Choose it and get rewarded for making an unconventional choice and staying true to yourself.


  4. That sounds like an interesting novel- perhaps you should write it?

  5. Rocco broke the house again.

    I love that kid :)


Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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