Saturday, May 6, 2017


It's too bad it only seems
It only happens in my dreams
Only in dreams
In beautiful dreams.
-- Roy Orbison, In Dreams

I'm amazed how rich my dreams have become since I returned to Africa about 6 weeks ago. Once I nod out, they come tumbling forth at a furious rate and Felliniesque quality. The cast and storylines are fantastical -- people I knew in elementary school and others I don't recognize, all in the most vivid terms. The dreams are dramas, usually, or absurdist documentaries, documenting realities of my imagination. I wake from them in the middle of the night, rain pounding outside, my 9 month old son lying beside me, his little hand on my forearm. What is he dreaming, I wonder. Anything? Oh yes, I'm sure he dreams, baby dreams of special richness, fears, happiness, excitement, fun, fury. Do babies get angry in their dreams? Yes, I think they must. We do, and they are just saplings of adults, so they must, no?

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