I’m living in an apartment complex, at first something like the townhouses atop the hill, morphing into something more like the garden apartments with a central parking lot outside Baltimore.

We’re moving out or at least cleaning up, carrying stuff out to the dumpster.

I’m not sure who the “us” is, but soon it feels like just me, especially when body parts or something suspicious is found, say, under the front-door mat and then in strange corners within the house. Gotta clean ’em out before they start stinkin’. Into the dumpster, then, when nobody’s looking.

Early on, I’m trying to protect the chil’kins, not that I/we think she’s done anything but rather that she would be a prime suspect.

As this progresses, though, it’s my ex- who’s in question. For whatever reason, I’m still trying to help her, cover for her.

In either case, I’d be under heightened suspicion.

“I’VE NEVER BEEN TOUCHED,” meaning love.

“My sisters have. They all have husbands and family, but I’ve never been touched.”

 

TRAVELING IN A TERRAIN LIKE the orchard country of Washington state – Naches or Cowiche, especially – in the car, we come across the top of a hill and find ourselves facing a band of four tornadoes, which we manage to drive past, after great fear and trepidation.

She’s no longer a goddess, but a traveling companion. Do the tornadoes reflect engulfing, destructive, and self-destructive figures of love?

 

ON A BOAT, THE RUDDER WORKS in the opposite direction of what feels right. Often seemed to have no effect, whatsoever.

In both cases, a sense of something important remaining unfinished.

AT AN EVENING EVENT, not especially Quaker. Maybe I’m off on a book tour or readings. Whatever, I’m in an amber-lighted room with others and eventually realize she’s on the other side. We eventually approach, exchange a few words. Hesitantly, I ask if she’d be interested in a late dinner, and just as cautiously, she replies in a muted affirmative.

We go to a small, upscale, modernistic place – again, soft lighting. The service, however, is atrocious. It’s late, they have my credit card, and the food just doesn’t come. We don’t know what to do. We’re hungry. Demand the card and leave?

The waiter, apologetic, finally shows up with my card. We stay, I assume.

This was disturbing enough to wake me two hours earlier than I’d planned to get up. Was jarring enough I couldn’t go back to sleep.

 

IT STARTS OUT WITH THE KISS, I presume. And somehow leaps from the chemist to her, who now wants to travel with me on a journey. We’re at yearly meeting, after agreeing to coffee or late dinner to talk things over and perhaps catch up. Maybe she invited herself to my room after. What I remember is the intensity of her snuggling up to me, seductively tender, cooing, yielding.

 

FLASH IN THE BIG, MULTILEVEL MALL: much taller, but definitely the type: intense blue eyes, freckles, full and almost purple lips, golden-blonde hair. The constant potential around the corner, the unexpected encounter of some intense part of my past: someone I loved powerfully or served who nonetheless betrayed me.

 

HER WANTING to reunite with me.

I wasn’t having it.

Not after this long.

 

FLYING UNDER BLANKETS (sheets? or Navajo blankets?) with Photographer over mountains (starting out from Selah or Naches?) we wind up, after rocky and snowy stretches, Goat Rocks, say, over Vermont, other end of the country – a children’s camp, actually, high up a dirt road from a dream a few nights earlier …

Freeform with or wearing a harness, hands free, touch of Yakima, touch of New England.

 

I’M GOING TO BE BURIED TOMORROW so go out with my friends or family on a sunny spring day, actually, that’s where it starts, on the country highway, looking up the intense green grass toward a plateau or leveling, with tombstones white in the sun … we climb and there see three new holes dug in the earth. One would be mine the next day.

Am I being buried alive?

 

DRIVING ALONG FLAT FARMLAND, like that of northwest Ohio. Great blue sky. Humming along, with a ditch full of water to my right; may be a small river. A small town looms on the horizon, with an elevated green bridge in front of it. First, it’s an interstate highway, and then a railroad. My companion and I discuss the possibilities ahead.

Pass under it and there’s a forced right turn. Everything turns dark and interior. (Hmm. Shades of the water-cage highway weeks earlier.) I overhear a young woman telling of a dream in which she, too, had a prominent bridge. I approach her, ask if her bridge was perpendicular to the highway, as mine was. No, it was beside it. Still, we’ve bridged a conversation. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress. Smiles slyly, seductively. We begin kissing. It’s only a momentary thing, one of us says.

So here’s a dream with conversations about dreams! Again, a sense of places I’ve lived, back when.

SITTING IN AN AUDIENCE, AWAITING the speaker, when a woman comes out to introduce the guest lecturer, I hear the name but get up and leave.

Hearing of my move, my therapist shouts his approval.

 

AT A CONTRADANCE BEING HELD IN A HOME … a place with multiple rooms … everyone knows me as a friend, at least the regulars. I hear that she’s also there, in another room. But this time, she’s trying to catch up with me as I circulate – and she never succeeds. A role reversal.

 

SHE COMES TO ME TO RECONCILE, but when we’re naked abed, I put my head into her loose essence – and push her away with such force it awakens me at 5 a.m.

Head? Not hand?

 

BECAUSE OF SOME ACCIDENT, has a porcelain face but her own lips. We must swim to the cove to get my car (somehow, the vital papers in my wallet do not get wet).

 

A SHADOW BRUNETTE IN HER DWELLING – very sexy, serious, freckled, long hair and a white peasant blouse – fleets through. She informs me the goddess had a ride lined up to Dallas (presumably her regular lover) but backed out when she heard I was coming, would be there … cancelled because she wanted to “square things off with you.”

Facing each other again, her kisses are conflicted, broken off as if she might want to return. Even so, a distance and brooding.

Of course, I was the one who was driving to her place.

 

A FIGURE – LONG FLAXEN HAIR – walks past the clump of people I’m hanging out with.

“Who was that?” a young woman says to me.

“Oh, just somebody I used to love. Used to love very much.”

STAYING IN A VERY POSH HOTEL in Washington, D.C., where one exterior was angled so the rooms opened out on a large waterslide! I’m torn in making a decision between going to the National Gallery, a block down the street, or playing in the water instead.

The deal also includes a helicopter ride over downtown Dayton, just a few blocks away.

Obligations/seriousness versus fun/irresponsibility.

 

IN COASTAL FRANCE, RIDING IN a horse-drawn carriage, our guide leaves and I’m expected to pay the driver but I haven’t converted my currency. At last, I say MO-NAY and point to the dollars in my wallet. He laughs and points to a shoreside bank. We enter together, take an elevator down from street level, toward the water, I presume.

 

DRIVING WITH JAMES DOBSON THROUGH rich, plowed farmland – gently rolling, like southern Indiana – but also about to be turned into housing tracts.

We need to take a leak, so we park and climb a small green rise, and at the fence line while taking our pee, I gaze out on a sunny morning pond and see what I think’s an otter. “Look!” As we focus, we realize it’s a brown bear and its companion.

 

THIS TIME, WITH BLONDIE, BEGINS roadside Bucks Co. PA scene from an earlier HODGSON roots quest dream. Soon, however, we are interior, getting intimate – walls, ceiling painted black. We’re interrupted by “Annie,” who has me tied up, ready to be shipped out with burlap bags (of pot?) and recipes for its use. My head is against strange paperback drawings of couples with bizarre tats and piercings. At last Blondie senses Annie, having spaced off somewhere else, has forgotten, for now, unties me. “You’ve got to go, now,” coins falling from my pockets all over the dark place. Me, in overalls! No time to chase the coins. “You’ve got to go. NOW!” Expelling me out onto a downtown, then my high school, Watervliet, daylight, all from other recent nights. She cannot come along. Held hostage, by her kids.

There had been endless dreams of chasing after her and trying to catch up but failing. Curiously little from the time we were actually together. But, then, one night, I have one where she’s trying to catch up with me but can’t, unlike all the other times when I had been trying to catch her. And at that moment, I was free.

And then?

TRAVELING, BACKPACKING, with a female companion. We stop for the night, a small hilltop lodge. Next morning, she cannot be found. Has taken a walk. Later, down the pathway, a cabin has burned. Something the hostess says about an old hermit who lived there. And the host, “You won’t want to look there,” a warning. She had insisted on going off on the walk alone. Finally, I realize I must move on, alone.

 

I’M RIDING A BICYCLE, MAYBE even in Ohio. Beside me, on my right, is a blonde, short athletic hair (blue eyed?), mid-20s runner. We share an attraction, but light, playful, not sticky.

From behind my left side, then, up comes running another figure – as she catches up, more or less, it’s the golden goddess of my past! Shortly afterward, the roadway begins heading stiffly uphill.

My attention – and desire – shifts to her, despite the fact the other is clearly healthier for me. But I determine to ride on and redouble my effort. Fading as I lurch uphill.

Significant I was going somewhere – on my way – this time I wasn’t being blindsided, either, yet she wasn’t ahead. Her darkness or danger became apparent as I retold the dream.

 

NOW AS A VAMPIRE, AN INSOMNIAC GHOST. Her unimaginably long hair’s cut short, a different nose, too. Leading me out of my way: Dayton, Wayne Avenue, and Seventh Street area – not that I’m in love with her or anything but rather holding her accountable. Not taking any shit from her, but firm.

And then dismembering her, for a change. Not that a dream offers details of the carnage, or that I would ever possibly be able to do such a thing in reality. But in this sense, I could detach myself from her piece by piece, and that has remained very terrifying.

 

SHE APPROACHES ME, REBUFFED. The golden goddess has aged, grown flabby, lost her girlish charm, even the edge of her serious demeanor. In their place, a stupor.

She falls behind, cannot catch up. I’ve gained strength and move on. There are no words that bridge us.

SWIMMING IN AN ALKALI, ROCKY, heavy current river with Princess Di, a dead seal or otter on a sunny rock turns out to be Prince Charles.

Later, swimming downstream with her, toward a dam, a cry to get out of the current, come ashore on a sandy beach.

Snapping turtle sitting at the water sluice where the beaver had been in eerie, inviting, green river.

 

WHAT STARTS IN A 19^TH CENTURY asylum atop Amoskeag Falls as part of an open house, except they’re trying to retain us, turns into escape as I go DOWN to the rushing water and somehow step out around the powerful whirlpool and cascades.

Aha! The unconscious: emotions!

 

EVERYTHING CRYSTALLINE. shoreline flowers in many shades and the greenest grass, the only clouds distant and low hugging the inland horizon.

Two halves of a partly open mussel rattle enclosing a pebble.

 

CLIMBING IN TROPICAL MOUNTAINS. Much water in pools and cascades. Other people. Flowers, too. An old mill or two. Quarries? Very beautiful, youthful – cool and sunny.

 

SWIMMING IN DEEP BLUE WATER, I suddenly panic before resigning myself. A strange kind of calm. Accepting survival as a gift, something inevitable for those who keep their wits first and let the shark decide.

 

I MOVE, LEAVE NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. There’s much water imagery.

 

I OVERFILL THE BATHTUB on Oakdale, 2 inches of water on the floor and Dad keeps getting in the way, trying to help … for some reason, he’s not angry. Hmm.

 

SWIMMING IN MOUNTAIN PONDS, looking down, even spying on other swimmers in ponds below surrounded by green forest, then, walking up from or even to those same pools and looking further up to where we had been which no longer appeared so lofty, again leaving me with a very warm feeling.