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.


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.



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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