Some time between finishing Pacifica and my heart attack, I had a dream. In it were my classmates, together again for a reunion. In an alcove, was a woman, losing minute by minute, hour by hour her humanity, growing lighter, glowing, until all I saw was her soul as blinding as the sun. There were dramas within our group, loves and losses, but what fascinated me throughout was the woman, dying to become living, her end her beginning. And I can remember thinking in the dream, that I wanted to be her. I wanted to be light and bright as the sun.
It's hard to find the words. I've tried, but nothing ever quite captured it until today. Somebody posted on Facebook a Margaret Atwood poem,
Eating Fire, and I stopped, thinking "this is it." So here it is, my dream in words.
Eating fire
is your ambition:
to swallow the flame down
take it into your mouth
and shoot it forth, a short or an incandescent
tongue, a word
exploding from you in gold, crimson
unrolling in a brilliant scroll
To be lit up from within
vein by vein
To be the sun
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