inklings

Whereas I recognize some trusted individuals may be still interested in the mundane aspects of my life, real or imagined;

Q: Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? *
A: I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day. *

double-checked, triple-checked

cross-referenced

verified from at least two sources.

The truth I sometimes wish were false

in case I- told-you-sos were hot at my heels

from the mouths of the wary

and love-wearied.

Dream 1. October 8, 2007. Woke up at four this morning, checked mail, and slept again. Dreamt I was somewhere in the mountains at some sort of festival. We were decorating a pink VW Beetle with pink ruffles and feather boas, and some dancer’s headdress with rainbow-colored feathers. There was a short march, and suddenly I was standing with Nanay in the middle of a terrace ploughed into the mountain face and there were no more dancers.

A rush of water began flowing from somewhere up the mountain, and we stood there while it rose up our ankles. I stood on a rock, and when I looked down, there was this animal that looked like a ten-pound snail with a brown mottled shell shaped like two bowls stuck together by the rims, standing on one edge. It had big curious eyes and it blinked at me. It was repulsive, and I tried to jump onto another rock, but it smoothly slid - and really fast, like a little remote-controlled car - closer to me.

I sort of tried to say hi to it and be friendly but it just blinked and followed me. Then it sort of jumped at my arm and when I shook it off, my arm had even little pink beehive bites on it that didn’t bleed.

Dream 2. April 13, 2007. I dreamt I was assistant to a baby executioner. Every day of the week, he strangled one baby to death and left it inside a room. Seven rooms all in a row. My job was to empty the rooms at the end of the week, bag the baby corpses, and get rid of them. One day, I’d bagged them all, and one baby was still alive. I called out to the executioner-man, and he snapped its neck and it stopped writhing. Then I woke up.

Dream 3. March 28, 2007. Shopping with a dead dictator. I dreamt that Ferdinand Marcos was my grandfather (and that he was alive, duh). He was Nanay’s dad, and she and I went to meet him at a mall because he was going out to see a movie. With bodyguards and all. Nanay was very excited because Marcos supposedly was very generous and paid for everything. SHOPPING. I don’t even remotely enjoy shopping. Anyway, Nanay also said that he’d give the two thumbs up sign to mean that he was still loaded, and drop one hand when he was running low. Whaaaat.

Seconds before I woke up, Nanay was running out to the mall parking area to meet him, and I was running behind her. Then I was seized by a coughing fit and woke up. I didn’t even see the man.

Dream 3. February 23, 2007. My brain may have borrowed something from Pocahontas, but then again, natives don’t run about wearing spandex.

I’m part of a tribe somewhere, and we take a bus going to an island where we’re supposed to conquer another tribe. I think we may be wearing school uniforms.

As soon as our bus sails over some body of water and lands on the shores of the other tribe, I and a two others from my tribe are captured. We are brought before some sort of priest or whatever bigshot and he gives each of us bright blue rectangular bags with clothes in them. “Game” clothes. First there’s tiny flesh-colored underwear, then clear plastic micro-shorts, then light blue leotards (we each have different shades of blue), then t-shirts over the leotards, then sheer brown ankle socks, and brown maryjanes. Why I remember the clothes so much, I don’t know. We dressed in what looked like a very modern public restroom.

Then we are brought to a kind of hut with black rubber-insulated electrical cables hanging from the beams. There are other people there dressed like us three; I’m not quite sure if they’re from our tribe. We’re supposed to grab a pair of cables, tug on them until they unraveled from the beams, and the next task’s gonna depend on where they lead.

I start pulling and my cables lead me clockwise around the hut. One of my tribesmate’s wires lead to an electrical outlet. Mine leads to a small (in terms of perimeter, maybe five by five meters square) high-ceilinged room with shelves on the walls reaching to the ceiling, filled with books. I tug on the wires, and down comes a large maroon hard-bound copy of Plato’s Republic. In French. The cables are bound to the front cover. I remember thinking that Plato wasn’t French.

When I return outside, there are fewer players. My two tribesmates suddenly bolt, one after the other, into the night (it was dark!) I run after them, and a guard stops me. Then the dream becomes muddled; not sure what leads to the next scene.

Part two: Still with the tribe thing. I’m on a boat with at least one other person, and we’re supposed to find the gold in a ship anchored near the island, steal it, and bring it back, or else. We encounter several boats before deciding on one with red sails. Somehow, none of the occupants of the boat seem to see us. We pass a room full of bald children in white robes kneeling - monks in training?

Somewhere along the way, we get caught by the head monk, whom we have injured mortally one way or the other. He tours us around the ship, checks on the “gold” (which turns out to be nothing but loose change in various little mini-cabinets inside the cabin boys’ library (what is it with libraries?).

We befriend three girls on the ship. One seems to be equal in position to the head monk, and I think I fall in love with her (at this point I’m not quite sure if I’m a man or a woman in the dream). The two other girls are fraternal twins. One has wavy brown hair, and the other’s a redhead. They also have a dog named Leslie.

There’s a conversation somewhere here where we argue on how to pronounce David Bowie’s Moonage Daydream. The monk-girl says it’s moon-EYJ. The redhead says it’s moon-AHJ. I say it’s moon-EDGE. Hee.

Then some people from the tribe that sent us to steal the gold come on the ship and make some sort of a treaty with the captain (the monk had already died); they’d take the twins, Leslie, and the high-ranking monk-girl, in exchange for myself and my companion on the failed gold-stealing mission.

It’s a weird farewell. The monk-girl puts on a beautiful gown and red high heels. Then she takes off the shoes and grinds them into the mud. When I bend down to retrieve them, the heels are broken off.

The twins get on a canoe with the monk-girl and Leslie, and I kiss them each good-bye. Then our ship turns into a bus. We find out later on a television built into the face of a cliff near where we were anchored that some other invader had captured the island instead of us, and killed the twins as a sort of sacrifice. Leslie, on the other hand, was treated well and grew fat. I pay P30 for the bus ride home.

Dream 4. July 21, 2006. I went to bed at eight, but woke up at around nine with a bad allergy. The skin around my eyes were swollen, and so were my lips. I asked Ate Anna to whisk by the store and get me some antihistamines, and after I took a pill, I went back to bed.

In my dream I was named Marcellini Marcellino and I was a criminal, I think, of some sort, trying to pose as a regular working girl. One of my officemates (who looked remarkably like Kiko, only much better-looking, and he had a dangerous-guy-Clark-Gable-ish air about him, so let’s call him Kiko) started to make amorous advances, and I politely tried to discourage him.

The man did not know the meaning of the word quit, so I ended up going to a family gathering with him wearing a rented wedding gown. It was a garden party - a birthday of a family member, I think, and each table had a “queen” - apparently the point was to elect one to be the lady of the ball. Kiko kept trying to play footsie with me, and I was so nice I told him politely to please not be so rough. At one point, he went up onstage to make a speech. Our table was at the stage’s left side, and I don’t remember now what he was going on about but suddenly one of the stage’s heavy background props rolled off and missed me by inches.

Right then Kiko announced that he was in love with me, and that the falling prop was planned so that he could rescue me (which he didn’t; I rescued myself). At this point I felt that I was in grave danger and that I should run, and I launched myself across the garden with Kiko in hot pursuit.

I ran into the building right next to the party and found myself in a maze of kitchens and dining tables, holding a small bird that I had to set free (wtf?). I found a good spot and released the bird, and when it was perched on the window ledge, it turned into a girl (who looked like RJ from church) wearing a white gown and laughing. At this point, I realized I had two of my friends running with me (I don’t remember which, but they were also at the party). We took mobile phone pictures of RJ-on-the-ledge-laughing-and-flashing-the-peace-sign. Then RJ flew away. Back to the chase.

I ran out of the building (I wasn’t even panting from the exertion, yay me!) and took a blue tricycle home. Home was apparently underground, and I remember mentally patting myself on the back for selecting such a good hideaway. Yes, I am Marcellini Marcellino, criminal. Of course, the other trike drivers told Kiko where I lived. Grr. Stupid.

Anyway, at home in my room, my two friends and I hurriedly squeezed into my Special Hiding Place - a rat hole in the wall hidden by boxes of pale blue-green blankets - gowns and all. Kiko rushed into the room just as I was disappearing into the hole, and he caught a glimpse of my fuchsia high-heeled pumps (again, wtf?).

I don’t remember how, but we were being chased again, and I had only one friend left with me. I heard someone say, far away, but very clearly, “She’s Marcellini Marcellino. That makes her twice a Marcellino.” At this Kiko gave an anguished cry and ran after the two of us, brandishing his pistol. I had stripped of my skirt (you know those strip-away gown skirts?) We found ourselves - Kiko, me, and my other friend - in a cool green forest clearing (but it was too manicured to be a real forest, so it must have been a park).

Then he pointed his gun at me and fired. I fell face forward to the ground. Apparently he was some kind of a private investigator or undercover cop. Suddenly the point of view changed, and I saw everything from far away. Think silent, cinematic long shot. I was shot from behind, and I crumple down onto the grass. My friend, who had lagged behind, stood behind Kiko, also holding a gun. I never knew if she was going to shoot him to avenge me, or if they were in cahoots, because I woke up.

And when I’ve settled in, it’s almost invariably the same arrangement. My wall looks the same, my books arranged just so, a place for everything and everything in its place. When I leave again, the room will look just the same as when I first moved in (except for the things that won’t fit or don’t fit anymore that I leave behind, packed neatly into a box).

Sometimes I wonder if this is a bad thing. Sometimes I wonder if I’m ever going to want to make room for something that doesn’t fit.