Why Does Complexity Grow in Dreams?
In the dream I am painting the outside walls of my old high school.
I choose brown and yellow, the school’s colors, to transform a cen-
tury’s worth of brick and stone . The old priest-principle is there,
blessing my selections. I begin to brush, and find filigrees and
curlicues blooming in sandstone; now figures and scenes, now
marble plaques and names of long-dead teachers; now intricate
memorials and a whole museum-front of treasures; now old coin-
phones, dust-covered. The complexity grows, seems natural, pre-
sents dilemmas: I must decide what gets brown and what stays
white (yellow forgotten). As can after can empties, and a storm
brews around me, I keep up, adorning entrances and planning on
rollers and sprays—aware that each labored stroke is a new choice,
a decision for the ages.
5 thoughts on "Why Does Complexity Grow in Dreams?"
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I am reminded how each of us is forced to choose how we shape, rewrite, or preserve our shared story.
Our choices—what we cover, what we adorn, what we forget—are never neutral.
They are decisions “for the ages,” and sometimes the tools (the paint, the colors, the rollers and sprays) are less important than the wisdom and humility needed to understand the stakes of our labor.
Well done.
Oh, oh, oh! This is awesome. Great title; great first line. That sucked me into the poem. Just what you want. And that title is absolutely perfect. You relate a dream with broadening complexity, and the metaphor of this poem is so strong.
Thank you for sharing it with us!
Love:
I begin to brush, and find filigrees and/curlicues blooming in sandstone; now figures and scenes, now/marble plaques and names of long-dead teachers; now intricate
memorials and a whole museum-front of treasures; now old coin-
phones, dust-covered.
This poem is “a whole museum-front of treasures;” and it intrigues me!
Based on the title, I appreciate the dreamy, nostalgic, and soft atmosphere you’ve captured. It feels special.