Monday, November 23, 2009

a strange dream

I had a strange dream and thought of sharing it:

In this dream, I was reading about a young girl who was on trial for witchcraft. There was a fine line between the reading of and the witnessing of this trail; because the dream did seem to come alive and the girl did spring between the pages to stand before my eyes. Perhaps, it’s my current imagination that is shaping my dream, and embellishing on this lost reality.

She was on trial for raising the dead— she lived by a graveyard, which made the dead quite accessible to her. The judge was faceless; he merely had a voice that admonished the young girl.
She was a dressed in white, curly hair tossed about her shoulders, exuding supernatural confidence as she spoke. She did not try to deny this accusation, but rather to justify it, and it is her justification that I found most intriguing. She responded that she only wanted to play with them, and that by raising the dead someone in the future will raise her from the dead.

Her innocent rejoinder got me thinking. There was something about her desire for immortality that struck a chord within me. Perhaps it is I who has an unconscious drive for immortality that has yet to surface fully, or it may be a romantic notion that all humans desire. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s my mortality; yet, a part of me seems to want to romanticize eternity—that the sun will continue to rise and set beyond the pale sky, forlorn mountains, for a time that knows no end. But my words will end, and maybe I want to leave a mark, or a word, even after the sunsets, and the evening becomes my shroud.

Maybe I'm just uncomfortable with the looming implications of death. Or, it was just a dream, and nothing else.


  1. Yay, sentences! I am partial to sentences.

    Your writing has such a haunting quality to it, Zeinab. I read this yesterday, but for some reason the face of the curly-headed spirit-conjurer keeps creeping back into my mind. I'm not sure what you did to capture her so well, and to keep her entrapped in my memory, but you did it.

    I most definitely seek immortality through my words. Sometimes I wonder if that is not my most pressing motivation for keeping a journal. I want my children and grandchildren to relive my youth through my journals after I'm gone. It's selfish, really, but at least maybe we understand one another.

  2. Haha Kathleen, I'm trying to write full sentences; it's a bit difficult, however.

    I tend to look at diaries as gifts, especially when they are passed down to family members, and not necessarily as a selfish desire for immortality. (Or, perhaps thinking of them as gifts is even more selfish.)

    I wish that diaries were more common in my culture, in particular, my family. They give such insight into our own lives and may provide a precedence to our idiosyncrasies. But, few were learned enough to write, especially females, so I'm left with stories that I love listening to.

  3. When I write and I know that it's gonna be read, I cannot write comfortably. I censor myself. It's either part of the culture I grew up in, where I was never allowed to be "myself" or it's something that most people feel more or less.