‘In that sleep of dreams…’

I did some of the reading Enchanteur directed us toward in the quest to find the elixir and how to mine in the depths of the subconscious, particularly dreams. ( Working (and Playing) with Dreams.)

When we were very close to the mines and within spitting distance of the Keeper I had to sleep. Mule had to sleep.The three of us could not take even one step closer because our bodies were wretched with exhaustion. We had grown almost close on the journey and I had dropped my guard – a little. I covered myself with three thick blankets and rolled up a  jumper to act as a pillow. Under the stars, no moon, pitch black and so cold, snuggling up was bliss.

“G’night Mule”

“Good night…..Janet?”

“Yup.”

“Will it be okay if I call you Jan?”

“I think so, as you care enough to ask. My family call me Jan. My doctors and people who don’t really know me – they call me Janet. When I’m angry I call myself Janet…..”

“Okay then, Jan it is, let’s be friends.”

“Mule.”

“Mmm.”

“The people close to me, the people I love and who have loved me…..they call me J.”

“J? Kinda short isn’t it.”

“I didn’t ask you to like it, I’m just telling you so you’ll know.  We’re not on J terms so it doesn’t matter.Go to sleep.”

“Mmm.”

“Mule.”

“Sleeping…”

“When I was 19 years old a kind, kind lady who let me talk to her when the black monsters came….she called me darling. I think that was the first time anyone called me darling. It crept into my heart and never left. She’s like, my ‘other’ mother, almost 90 years old now. It still makes me cry….that first memory ….you can’t replace those Mule, I’ve hung on tight for over 30 years.” He’d gone to sleep, I went with him.

Beige carpets, a labyrinth of corridors, doors leading into unknown, unnameable places. We reach her office and she ushers me inside. Desk, computer, phone, bookshelves, many books, an ornamental, porcelain cat, a plant, tape recorder, dicta-phone, empty cup, two bags, one old, wrinkled, the other modern, a briefcase. Mountains of files, papers, filing cabinets, pens, clipboard, notes, thick, bulky, my life in bulky notes. We sit down, there is a low coffee table, low because we can’t have barriers, no threat, it’s the pose, the custom, a con, no barriers…. it’s a con. I put my feet up on the coffee table, my track shoe souls, immaculate… she comments sometimes, tells me I must float on air, how else can they be so clean?

Silence. We sit in silence. I have to speak first, I have to start, a rule…it’s the rule; the whole hour can pass but she will never break it, she will sit and say nothing, not her, she’s the canvas, the blank canvas…professional. Her speak, never… me, always, it has to be me first…always…always me… so I do speak…but sometimes she hates it.

“I’m okay, fine, in fact I’m nearly better now, I’m better, loads better… are you pleased, can you tell?”

Silence.

“My concentration – it’s good, everything’s okay, no problems this week… I want a job, will they let me get one, a job, I’ll be useful then, normal, I can do a job now…I’m better.”

Silence.

“Except I don’t get much sleep… I don’t sleep too good so I’m tired out… never enough sleep.”

“You don’t sleep.”

“No…sometimes…yes…no,  a little…not much this week – tired… I’m always  tired, and there’s no concentration.”

“Oh…so you can’t concentrate and you don’t sleep … but you’re better! You want a job now because you’re so well…garbage! Tell me…what’s bugging you, why don’t you sleep – what’s frightening you…tell me.”

“Why?”

“You know why. Tell me about it, come on…”

“I don’t know why… my head is revved… always revved.”

“Your head is revved.”

“I don’t know why, my head… it’s always revved….I’m so tired. I go to bed exhausted with my head revved and then I stay awake.”

“Mmm…any dreams?”

“No.”

“No, of course not, how silly of me to ask.”

“Well maybe…okay, maybe! One, or two perhaps… none, I don’t dream.”

“Which one of those answers should I go with I wonder… you do dream,  you’ve had one or two… about what, tell me…”

“I don’t know, don’t remember; I’ve forgotten, nothing…leave it.”

“What were they like, the one or two….tell me, the one or two, describe them.”

“In one…in one of them…your plant isn’t growing.”

“Evasion, come on…do some work… in one…..”

“Nothing. I don’t know…can’t remember.”

“You do remember…in one….”

“It was like the others.”

“Like the others, at last…tell me…how…in what way?”

                                                     * * * * * *

“Inside, night…upstairs, my bedroom. I’m awake, hear noises, I get upset, frightened. I get out of bed to look through the window. I push back the curtains, I can see the street lamp. I know someone is there, I don’t like it, too creepy, it makes me shiver.” 

“Where, someone is where? Inside, outside?”

“Don’t know, I can’t remember….nothing happens after that… I can’t remember..”

                                                        * * * * * *

Velvet velvet sky stars are eyes – damson lilac velvet folds… wrap round me – suffocating. I’m suffocating…. can’t breathe….can’t breathe…don’t choke, don’t CHOKE ME, DON’T CHOKE ME!….

Moon no moon light in the velvet stars silver…shadow..whose shadow? How?

Shadow…how…no light…HOW! WHO?

Soft velvet dawn come please light…morning chorus, cheepcheepchirrup  cheep…light…hang on… light’s coming… safety… light soon…hang on, sunrise safe…bring light…safety.

“Vincent! There is blood on your face, did your ear bleed? Vincent. In the velvet in the stars… violent…violent Vincent with his ear in his hand….are you painting your ear Vince, painting it red, are you going to fix it back on?” Velvet star night.

“I didn’t like it, my ear….I’m going to send it to my friend, Gauguin…he needs another ear…”

“He won’t like your ear, it’s hacked and bloody, I don’t think he’ll like your ear… are you sending it in the post?

“Yes. I am posting it to him, he needs more ears so he will hear better…”

“If we all have three ears will we hear better, will we hear whispers, or the tides going out and coming in….even though your blood is on it… you’ve got a hole now, a hole where your ear used to be.”

“I don’t like my legs. I want to cut off my legs and send them to someone. Would he like to have my legs, your friend? Should I send Gauguin my legs? He can paint on them… he can use them as book ends…”

“See how the air moves, it drapes me and mis-shapes, quivering, the buildings are shaking, they don’t keep still, watch them…shivering, shimmering, wavering…I have to send my ear away…the stars are listening to me, the sky is watching you…all of us… there is blood on my brushes…velvetplumbloodsky…crying… go to the cafe…pick sunflowers…  they watch, they whisper…the corn quivers…my paints are gone…none left…I’ll paint in ear blood and coffee…”

“Vince…are you going to leave? Are you going to leave me here, alone?”

“I won’t be far, just the asylum, only the asylum.”

“But you’re still leaving, even the asylum is leaving…why are you going? Why do you have to go? Is it your ear? Is it because you gave Gauguin your ear…because we can get you a new one…I can make you a new ear and then you can stay and I won’t be alone.”

“Someone is making me leave, some people…would you like to have my eyes, or just one? Then I can see you everyday and you will know I haven’t gone, I can gouge out my eye and you can keep it in your handkerchief. My paintings, you can have all of them…no one likes them, worthless, but good for making a fire…you could have a bonfire and I will watch it with you, through my eye…and we will see the same things… and when you see my paintings through my eye you will know they are worthless.”

“I don’t want to do that, I like them, your eye is all wrong. Is that why you have to go to the asylum? Because your eyes are wrong, and now you want to give me a bad eye and I will be wrong and go to the asylum?”

“I use cheap paint, the lines aren’t straight, the buildings move…I have to leave. Goodbye.”

“Don’t leave, don’t leave me, please stay Vince, I’ll be good, don’t leave…”

                                                      * * * * * *

“Hey, Jan, wake up, wake up! You’re dreaming.”

Hmm, dreaming, not dreaming, again, it’s cold, nightmare, another and another nightmare.

” Mule.”

“Yup?”

“In the Kingdom of the Blind, the one-eyed man is King.”

Jan