Pilachi_Sketch [ BLOG ]

Remember this dream it will change your life; thought the author with consternation. The visual cues were profound and visually stimulating, the undisclosed recipient was a lingering shadow lurking about in her own life.

The setting was an old colonial house, quite like the one in which for a fragment of his shattered life, he was raised. There was a large earthenware pot; a clay pot with a firey stain emblazoned on the upper left… horizontally displaced across the rim. He was working quite hard and the graphic on his design was a black star, impregnated with a textured monotone finish, on the shoulder of a musical performer… all rendered in shadow. The words at bay a mask, revealing the shadows of the dreadlocked [flowing hair character behind].

There was a black ford explorer and a taxi waiting down the footpath to the right. She was off to work again, though on a weekend it was close to night. The only thing he said, before I backtrack in looking at her transluscent blouse and flowing linen pants, almost above the drawstring line at back, revealing the almost dinstinctly hidden crack.

“Do you think that is appropriate?” he asked, “Given the circumstances?” A question shared openly in the obscurity of the unknowing mass; for their were people around, family friends co-workers, it is hard to say; for the only thing visible, were the lingering shadows of his shattered existence. There as nowhere within that house to run. The back steps, behind the kitchen, revealing the back yard… offered no sanctuary. It was two weeks before their scheduled departure, and with no more than the burden of guilt, it was revealled to him, that while working hard and late one night, she was intimately involved with her boss. A man who’s face I know, behind pane glass and dim night light, vertically against the furniture, whe gave herself to him by night.

She mentioned it in passing, as the grief became too much to bear… she had become vacuuous again, as if her numb sould had lost the will to care. On autopilot, she walked between two worlds… empty and defenseless.

She changed into a black print blouse; almost akin to a kimono, with little flower blossoms… he thought well this is it, I must leave her… but where on earth will he go.

Her relationship, as it were, would reveal fissures previously unheard of, unpoken and still… a woman was also lurking… and the forebear of their relationship revealed to have stalled uphill.

His only memory, aside from the pangs in his stomach… was the emptiness, the cold and the everpresent chill. What was he to do… as she walked out to face the inevitable: he was powerless to start and to stop.

Could he stop it? Was that his lesson? Or was he to prepare himself to respond… prepare himself to learn, at best… before facing the open beyond.

*****

Maybe I had this dream because I watched a BBC program called “Mistresses” last night, in which many of the same circumstances came to pass.