Perennial dreamer Gina writes:
On a trip with Eric, my brother and Eric’s brother. Very involved series of dilemmas Eric and I encounter. During our trip I am getting pains all over my body. I tell Eric that I feel like seeing a doctor, so we go to a hospital. Here they tell me that I have acquired a gross amount of male hormones and will most likely begin changing ‘painlessly’ into a man.
Back and forth. Scenes where Eric knows and is helpful, scenes where he doesn’t and he’s aloof. Scenes of me where I show my anger: In a church in Italy, everyone in the church was talking and it pissed me off so much I went around telling them to be quiet in a whisper, yet with a stern manner. The people listened as I told them they should be honored to be in such a place, that there even exists such places where people come to experience the silence of G_d. Continue reading
Gina sends us from her dream journal:
February 17, 1984
“I am in a film, on a stage set watching from the wings. There is a friend whose part it is to play a man. She is courageous, brilliant. The ensemble is experimental. The set is a deep dark color, deep blues, black and browns, muted, misty with cobwebs. An old car (maybe an old 50’s Ford), rusty and worn, stuck in the dirt and weather for a long time, faces front toward the audience. It is the feature prop on the set.
My friend had an idea. She went onto the set as a man and transformed into a male. (This transformative distinction is important. I believe she had convinced us all that she was male).
The passenger door to the car is open. The camera follows her and shoots her through the car window from a distance as she approaches. She moves over toward the door. She stops at the door. Slowly, she begins to undress from the top behind the open car door window, revealing herself as a woman. It was sensual and quiet.”
Gina writes:
Ann asks me to come into a room. There is a sick boy wheezing, dying. I stood for a moment and then almost approached him, but sat down instead. I heard Ann say, “There’s nothing that can be done.” He was wheezing and breathing with such difficulty. I couldn’t believe there wasn’t anything we could do.
In his hand were some birds. They talked a lot, chirped constantly, and I saw them picking at some white things also in his hand. I watched this boy with such awe, in such pain, I remember Ann kept saying, “It’s almost over…”
But then I saw something happen. The white pieces in his hand suddenly turned into baby birds. They didn’t hatch from little eggs. We watched and noticed the beautiful sounds coming from these new birds. The boy was fascinated and surprised. The white pieces in his hand originally were pieces of onion. Suddenly we noticed that he wasn’t wheezing anymore and he was sitting up in bed, then standing before us. The birds flew up and out of the room. Continue reading
I dream of dada 