Nightmares?

 I guess I can’t exactly say they were nightmares, I woke up unsettled, but I wasn’t scared, more disturbed. Last night I really struggled to sleep. It was like I was in and out of sleep for hours, and when I woke I knew I had been dreaming but I didn’t feel I’d been very asleep. Maybe it was cuz I had coffee at like 4pm, maybe because I’m getting sick.  I know there were at least three but I can only recall two. I have a feeling the other one was the most graphic and violent.  It was a weird disturbing night, I know at one point, between trying to get back to sleep after something violent had occurred, I wondered if that nightmare I had once about running from people with guns and hiding under a garage door before they found me - actually took place in Minneapolis, if it meant I would die soon. Even though I couldn’t justify why that would happen… 

Anyway. In one of the dreams I was in a battle, a war. At first I was on the walls defending against the others with bombs and explosives and machine guns, but once we had repelled them. I walked out into the desert with them. I talked to one, asked where we should sleep. Others were coupling up, their naked bodies exposed to the elements. It was like the most vulnerable thing I’d ever seen. The naked human form on a blanket in the dark night, in the desert, just yards away from a war zone. But they didn’t seem scared. It was like they were resigned to what was. 

In another I was driving into a small town. There was an ice agent on the corner checking peoples IDs. They waved at me sternly, pointing to their guns. I yelled I’m a citizen, and told them to fuck off. I drove a block further, and suddenly I was on foot. We were all headed toward the Mexican bakery. Once inside, people were buying food, trying to support the workers, but no one was telling them that ICE was coming. It was like we thought our good will would be enough to propel them. And suddenly we were all staring towards the doors, frozen in place, and the bustling voices of the crowd were silent waiting for the invasion. 

It was a weird night. Hopefully I get more sleep, but I’m thinking it might be a NyQuil weekend. 

Dreams of recognition

At some point last night, I had a series of dreams. 

In the first, I was in some sort of college gathering space, a banquet of sorts, with circular tables all around. On each table there were center pieces of flowers and grasses, but also writing and projects displayed. I noticed on one table that a poem I had written was displayed in glass or something, and another was a 4 square comic strip of a poem and drawings I had done. I vaguely recalled submitting them for an assignment, and was surprised to see them there. As the night led on, at some point I was asked to read the poem. I found myself looking for a microphone, which was hard to find, and took like 15 minutes, and in my time of searching for the tool, I hadn't reminded myself of the poem. Something I had scribbled for an assignment a week or two prior and had forgotten. I pulled the original out of my pocket. Not the polished version on the table. It was folded over and ruffled. The lines of the poem had crease marks over them. I couldn't find my place, or the tone, or the words. I woke up, and reminded myself that in dreams its hard *maybe impossible? to read. 

I went back to sleep, this time I was being asked to perform it, not just read it. I was on an elevated grander stage, an audience before me. There was an orchestra pit. I found the words of the poem were actually a song. I had written out the music and the lyrics. I began to sing it and felt very proud of what I'd accomplished as the music added depth. The poem felt more like a musical, there were parts, and after my first verse, I laid down on the stage, the music continue to play, and another performer took her part and sang the rest of the piece. As the music and the words reverberated through my body. I felt really proud of what I had contributed. I could relax, because my part was over, but I was recognized as sharing something important and meaningful for others. 

The song ended, and the audience gave a standing ovation. I felt relaxed and scanned the audience of smiling and clapping folks. In the middle, there was a man who did not appear happy. Something gave me a note that he wanted to talk to me. I approached him as people were leaving the theater. He said something about my wedding, and that he was surprised I could perform so quickly after -implying that it had been the previous night. I said he was mistaken, he had mistaken me for someone else. He pulled out a newspaper clipping that had my name on it, and seemed to imply it was all the proof he needed. There seemed to be some anger and disbelief on his part, I responded confused and gentle, I was in a good place and didn't need to be brought down. I told him, friend, that's not me, but I don't want to fight, and I wished him well. He went away unconvinced, still tight. I returned to the stage and my people, still feeling accomplished. 

There may have been another part. But I found this series of dreams to be really interested. The idea that I might create something, almost accidentally that matters to others. That I might be inspired and share my gifts and be recognized, and actually proud and comfortable with my success. The idea that I won't be able to convince everyone, that some would disapprove and I'd not be able to control their beliefs.

It's like a complete story in three parts. 

I wish I remembered the words and music, but I don't. I know it was somewhat political. I know that it felt a little like Les Miserables. I know that when I rested on the stage and listened to someone else sing and play my music, I genuinely felt surprised and proud of what I'd allowed to flow through me, that I was a conduit for some muse larger than myself, but I was grateful. 

Nearing the end of Jan

I am lost in the news again today. Every day seems to be a pull back into the atmosphere in which we live. Now we are at the stage in which the federal government is starting to notice, removing officials, toning down the rhetoric... but it won't be enough. The struggle will continue.

This morning, I found myself anxious, anticipating the day... I only have three clients today, only three yesterday, and yet I felt anxious about whether I could handle and complete all my tasks. There is always a tension between what must be done versus what I'd like to do. 

I've been generally following through with all my major tasks, and stumbling along with the minor ones. Getting stuff done. But not to the degree I'd like it to be done. Trying to figure out the next steps and what needs to be done (long and short term).

Need new glasses. Need a haircut and it would probably be better if it was professionally done. 

I have these things I'd like to do, like play guitar, write more, read more, exercise more... but I find myself stuck in a cycle of watching the news... and then trying to hustle to get stuff done, and then watching more news. And maybe only committing 20 minutes to what I'd hoped would be a 40 minute investment in myself. 

I suppose I have been able to get to a few protests... which was good. 

I feel mixed around how I am showing up in therapy, but at the same time, I don't really feel ashamed of it... Just aware that I am not always showing up as well adjusted as I'd like to be. But I notice my clients feel relieved when they see me experience it too. Like they can relax that it isn't just them. Thats also what I experienced at the protest on Saturday, the crowd's anger spoke for me. Made it easier to sit with it all. 

I am so proud of my state, and so scared that we won't learn from this. That we won't demand actual change, once we have relief. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe I can be hopeful.

I am questioning my voice a lot. I don't know how much to say or when... but I do need to speak up more. 

I am unsure what is happening with my billing and money... hoping it all comes out ok, but feels like there is a lot of delayed payments right now. I want to believe I can make a living doing this without burning out, but I am hesitant to take on more clients right now, and there are some who are leaving and or reducing appointments. "gotta make a living" but also I know I am living above my means. I need to reduce my costs at home and work, but the biggest costs are rent related, and I am not in a rush to move when it feels like I am still getting settled  -oh and the world is on fire. 

More later I guess. 

Until things change

I keep wondering if I should say something. Do I have anything to say? Am I enough in it to feel justified in my voice?  Am I enough on the periphery to recognize anything larger of value?

I could write a poem, a simple song, try to write some letter of encouragement, or another of complaint to a congress person, give a video lecture on the way things work, could teach skills for trauma, preach about morals to the crowd who are already praying with their feet. 

I could do more than I am doing, I know that. I just don't know what. 

I keep crying on and off when I listen to the news, have a spark of that trauma come back, that grief, that helplessness, that lament... and sometimes that fury, burning and bitter, with a rasp and a claw grasping for someone to blame. 

Cry over the death of a man I don't know, but who by all reports was a healer, and a peacemaker, and someone who could hold and honor something larger than himself, and who would run into the fire without thinking. 

I do not run into fires. That is not my way. If I had my way, I'd plan the fire from start to finish before the match was lit. I often freeze in the face of threat, I often freeze in the face of worry, freeze as I said, in place -contemplating a reason to start a fire for necessary warmth when one isn't naturally coming my way. And my limbs are shaking, and I tell her I am cold, but I am scared and full of anger and I don't know where to place the hostility. 

What is my little part, no need to be a savior, that's the mess that got us into this. If I've learned anything it's that following a leader without question will never get you where they say they are taking you. Make it great? Ha, make it sane again, just for a moment...

But that's the problem right there... we can't just go back to that old normal - that would be even more insane, even if it's tempting to lay the burden down when the patrols move onto the next city, to say we did our part... to pretend the corporate businesses supported us (when the truth is that we had to lasso and drag them to our direction), pretend our leaders did more than share words in front of a camera, pretend that families aren't still broken, missing Kleenexes of the disappeared in their waste baskets.  Back to work, back to school, back to daycare centers, hypervigilant, on guard for the next criticism or the next questioning, or the next tinted windows... but we will pretend like that's done and gone... and the marginalized will go back to the shadows, and the white majority will call themselves the moral victors and betray ourselves again. How many times will we shirk off our responsibility to make things better?

In the shower I daydreamed that maybe, like an organizer chooses their enemy* by voting the right one in, or calls out a corporation until they begrudgingly come into the light and then can be held as the model for the next one... maybe the universe has a role for us, maybe MN must be first to pay for its sins... maybe the Dakota war and the genocide that followed, and the Dred Scott decision, and the redlining, and the segregation, and the police violence and the inequality here in all its forms... maybe we were chosen first to extricate the poison, to bring the shame and evil out into the light, to carve away the debt we owe and make amends... and maybe through this ritual of bloodletting and marching, of songs, chants and candle lighting, of art and poster making, prayers and dancing, of mutual aid and legal observing, of shared rides and food deliveries, of whistles, of car horns, of calling out and calling in -through terror and bravery, and compassion, and basic human decency in the face of our own masked monsters, maybe we can get to something brighter. A land where no one is illegal, where all are treated with dignity and respect, where we all do better because we all do better. Melt away the impurities in our heart and allow that star on our new flag to shine brighter and stand for something more. Maybe we will be the first, passing the torch to bring clarity to each of those 49 other stars on a blood-soaked cloth. 

That is the work I guess, it won't be over...  

24th

 All night I felt like I had this reoccurring dream in which things were off, like reality was not what it was supposed to be. I kept getting these images throughout several dreams that there was like a blueprint version of life, and it did not match what we were living. It showed up sometimes on still images like a map, or a picture, and other times the entirety of my view, it was like everything was red shifted. Pink shifted. Like a drawing but the colors were all wrong. Like the printer was out of the ink that made things real. I kept noticing it, and not knowing what to do, not knowing how to even give words to it. I wasn’t sure if others were aware of it, I wasn’t sure if I should even be alarmed. Maybe that’s how it always was? Maybe the world I’ve known is the wrong one, maybe everything is supposed to be devoid of depth, of contrast, of shade, only half hued. 

I awoke this morning with a migraine. The kind I get when I sleep in too late, and need coffee like air. I checked my phone, stung in the forehead by light, I stumbled out of my bed for headache meds and coffee. And read that another observer was murdered at 26th and Nicollet. 

The videos were already everywhere, I knew the background well, knew the donut shop windows, knew every angle of that street. For hours that’s all I could think about, hoping the headache would diminish. Thinking about all the times I’ve walked up and down that street. 

9 am on a Saturday, we could have been taking E’s niece to get a donut. So that means there were children there. So that means the street I’ve probably spent the most time on in Minneapolis was a warzone. Dear god I hope they don’t burn it down. 

I started to get really scared by noon, I wasn’t sure what to do. They kept pushing back times of vigils because the streets weren’t safe. Then at some point the police just hit a three or four block area with tear gas and used it to move out. They gave the street back to the people. 

E and I went down there around 3-3:30 and it was the best decision. I couldn’t watch anymore, getting scared and angry, breaking down in tears every 15 minutes, waiting for new video angles of what was already horrific to watch. I wanted to scream that’s my neighborhood! But I don’t live there anymore, and why is it so personal? Shouldn’t it be about the man who died… of course.

But as we walked around and E pointing out all the familiar things, and me telling her about places I’d gone 15 years before I even met her… but it was safe. It was still there. And the people were loving and furious, but not a danger to our neighborhood. And so it was ok… they gave voice to my hurt, and I didn’t need to scream so loud in my lonely place.

It was fucking freezing and the restaurants and businesses opened up to give shelter and free coffee and bathrooms and it was community for community and it was beautiful. And E kept saying we would have done that, carafes of coffee and bathrooms and warm space for people. And I probably would have let her convince me that was enough.

After hours down there we were freezing and left. The streets felt a little less scary, though everyone is always looking out now. We talked about what it meant. About what was to come…

It’s not gonna get better right away. We know that.

Tonight I’ve been back on my phone and computer watching videos… it’s the crying and screaming that gets me now. I hear it and I hear my own.

I dunno… it feels unreal. It feels like this isn’t reality but it is… I know things are worse in other places, I know it has been worse here for so many… and throughout history. I’m just so heartbroken… and also proud of my people. 

Hbq

 Woke up this morning after a dream in which things were going wrong, I left my home without locking the door, and someone- maybe a disgruntled old roommate had taken all my living room furniture and who knows what else. I left my car on the street, maybe even left the car door open because I was holding too much. I walked away to drop the things, and when I returned the car had been towed, I walked up and down the streets to see if I could find it. I found myself in a different city, unfamiliar. But i felt on edge, like I had screwed up and was facing the consequences. But also, like I lost my security. Like I was now at the whims of the elements, and of any scary folks who wanted to take advantage of me. I was telling myself it’s just a hassle, I’ll have to get my car out of the impound lot, I’ll have to maybe change the locks and find out what else was stolen.  But I felt like shit because I knew it was my fault. I let my guard drop. 

42

 Feeling pretty shot right now.

Its like 7:15 pm and I am likely gonna go to bed soon. 

I started my birthday watching a protest in north minneapolis in the middle of the night. I woke up late with the song "a hard rains a-gonna fall" and about 40 minutes before my first appointment. Responded to birthday texts from my mom and dad, family, saw a bunch of shit on the news. Had 6 appointments and a lot of conversations inbetween with a former student and with Pete. It was all generally just a lot. 

At some point in the day I heard a parent and kid were picked up on the block E and I used to live on. 

At the end of the day i heard ICE was raiding the apartments by aquila and circling the school basically. 

I nearly had a panic attack in the car on the way to get dinner. I eyed everyone suspiciously at the Panda Express. I got angry and came home, still thinking about home. Still thinking about all the things I've seen, heard, experienced. Still wondering why I went to that funeral when I was 6, why they started a war, why they are destroying peoples lives when they could be helping instead. 

Im ready for bed. 

Fight mode

 It’s midnight, I’m still angry. Angry about violence. Angry about racism. Angry about my country and neighborhood being defiled. Angry about evil. Angry about evil being wrapped up in patriotism and being mislabeled truth or justice or whatever the fuck. Especially when the orange doesn’t even bother coding his bullshit. Take over a country, kill a mom, free a drug dealer or a scam artist, hide a child abuser. Meh… that’s America, tomorrow a mass shooting, the next day a new scandal. 

Angry that I’m allowing myself to be lured into trolls and angry that misinformation is so easily believed. Angry that I’m losing myself to hatred, rather than focusing on what is good, what is right, what is beautiful. 

I’m scared, I’m hurt, I’m disappointed. I’m furious. But my anger doesn’t serve a purpose tonight. So I need to treat it like a baby and take care of it. Tomorrow, maybe let it out again if it’s directed in the right place. Tonight be gentle with it. 

I’m proud of my people, but I hate that it feels like an us vs them. It shouldn’t be this way.