Cry

So I had this dream last night. People telling you their dreams is usually lame, but this one I felt was strangely beautiful, and so I'm going to subject you to reading about it.

First off, we were wandering through an old city looking for the vegetable market. Don't know what that means. But we wound up at this old house which was inhabited by a small group of artists. One of them had a friend, a young woman, who had recently been killed by a stalker - she was a beautiful, clear, simple girl with straight blond hair, and she had been cut down. He was grieving, and we all joined him in his grief. We took ordinary towels that we had folded up, and we played them - we twisted and squeezed them - and the most beautiful, complicated music came out - intricate, sad, but sweet and so lovely.

The artist who was grieving was a muralist, and on the wall were two of his murals. They were side by side. One was called "Cry #1" and the other "Cry #2". They were simple. They were both images of a staircase - that's all - that rose up, and plummeted straight down. The first one was simple, four steps going up and then over; but the second was high, high, high - it reached around the corner and fell from a great height. Somehow, they encapsulated for me so perfectly the idea of what it means to cry. You must climb your grief, step by step, to the summit, and then you can fall, free - a descent that is at once a release and a loss.

I woke, at 4:30 a.m., feeling so lucky that I had had this dream. I mused on it, trying to remember the details, until I drifted off again about an hour later. Good night....