|Sifting through my childhood
||[Oct. 22nd, 2008|10:45 am]
What did you dream about last night?
I posted this elsewhere, but I want to preserve it for posterity's sake.|
I dreamed that Russell and I had come to a house that I believe was my father's, after he had died. He had been living there for years, and in my dream it was the house I had grown up. I remember it as being the last place we lived before I left for the West Coast, which seemed to coincide perhaps with hitting puberty.
(In reality we never had one house that was our family home, we moved once a year or so. I lived on the West Coast until I was 7, then NM, then OR for a few months when I was 11, then NM again until I was 24, when I moved back to OR.)
It had been abandoned and was filled with junk. There were a lot of old books. There were some things that seemed precious, like old ribbons and certificates that I treasured when I was a kid. Some of it was trash. Some of it was worth nothing, but I was deeply touched that my father had kept it all these years. A lot of it wasn't mine, and had been accumulated in the time since I'd left. I had to decide what to keep, and what to throw away.
There were a lot of old library books. I called the library, but they said they wouldn't take them because the records had all been expunged. I was miffed, and decided that I would just drop them off there anyway. They still had the old-fashioned cards in them with people's names written in.
When I woke up, I was convinced that the things of mine that were in the dream were things I actually had when I was a child, that only my subconscious brain remembered. I still am, a little. It was a very powerful dream, and felt very precious and important.
It reminded me of the junkyard in Labyrinth.