Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Sitting on a Cold Marble Bench
I don't know where this image and sensation comes from, but yesterday I had a dream while awake. Not a daydream, though, I was dreaming and I was awake. There's a difference, trust me. It's odd, but not, I suspect. It's likely many fellow bereaved parents and others who experience great loss could share a story of when their unconsciousness is too eager to get started and visits before consciousness releases its hold on our minds for the day. I don't know, I base this assumption that others have had this experience solely on my average-person-ness. I've done no research, I'm basing this refusing to believe it's at all unique, but here it is none-the-less.
I have this sense that I am sitting on a cold marble bench with my legs crossed and tucked under a thick slab of blue-gray marble. I'm hugging myself to this bench feeling the cold of it seep through to my legs. I rock myself to get more settled in. The edge is rugged and rough, though the top is smooth and polished. It's a simple bench, no back and two square legs fused to the ends providing a sturdy resting place for the seat. There's room for three adults at this bench, but I sit here alone and in the dead center. I'll be here a while watching, what, I don't know, but I'm seated, arms crossed and legs tucked under. I suck a good portion of air in as though I had just remembered that it was there, and rock a bit to get settled until I remember to exhale that breath. I'm not particularly sad, or sorrowful, anxious, or feeling anything really. I'm not waiting, but I am watching the grass, perhaps? ground? I seem to have no purpose, but to be sitting on a cold marble bench.