In honor of Sylvia.

I recently had a dream about Sylvia Plath and wasn’t sure if I wanted to share it on line. I suppose I don’t want to leave her out. The dream started off with me walking along the ‘Iron-Workers’ bridge in Vancouver. I floated outside of myself and could see that I was wearing a suit jacket and a white collared shirt. My appearance seemed to be a bit unkempt but not in a totally stylish way. When I closed in on the end of the bridge I noticed a pink Bel-Air style apartment (one which resides in west van) was for some relocated aside the industrial concrete factory off to the right of the south bound lane.granville-bridge-fog-vancouver-984x500

I flew from the bridge over to the apartment in a completely upright and non-superman orientation. When I approached the apartment I saw a woman reading a book on a sun chair. I came a little closer and saw that it was Sylvia! She smiled and waved me over. I touched down on the deck and she greeted me with a hug. We began speaking to each other in words I couldn’t understand but I was able to read her eyes. I have always thought Sylvia in particular says so much more through her eyes than her fleeting words or her poetry ever did. We stood there speaking to each other for a time and she adjusted my clothing and dusted off my suit like a sister would have.

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Then she put her hands in the air and left exclaiming something. When she returned she had two saucers of cake! The cake was lovely! The icing was just right. I have truly never had cake like that. It was maybe an almond flavor.

I kept trying to understand what she was saying, what language it was or if it was just reverse speech; but I couldn’t figure it out. I am inclined to think it was Quenya. I can still hear her giggle running through my ears. At one pointed she laughed impishly through a mouthful of cake and again; I couldn’t understand the conversation that I was apparently fluent in, but her laughter was contagious. At another she seemed to squeak something that made her look like an audacious little mouse. It must a have been a joke; either way our persons both thought it was hilarious.

Even if I couldn’t understand our conversation I was so glad to see her again! I am inclined to believe that she is a returning sister as the encounter wasn’t really a romantic one. We seemed a bit too comfortable with one another for it to be a date. The picture below reminds me of how she appears to me even though the setting is wrong.

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Aside from this dream I have only had a few dreams of Sylvia. Her character is usually a bit distant but can be very intense. In another dream that I can recall she was doing some sort of choreographed Nazi goosestep thing. This was not at all preformed in favor of Nazism but seemed to be in a stab at male patriarchy and/or authority figures. I am inclined to believe I had this dream because of Her “Daddy” poem. I was a little intimidated by her in that dream as she seemed be very much “in character” and was screaming stuff in a very loud and passionate manner. So much so that it was clear that she was channeling some type of aggressive energy. Even in the dream I knew the performance was a stark contrast to her usual quiet and sweet demeanor and so it seemed all the more shocking.

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