In the room where I write, a woman who now raises alpacas once slept, and in another room I dream of a poet bringing me a precious peony bush from her garden but whose name in the way of dreams I’ve forgotten. She says oh dear, I’ve brought the wrong peony and I say what I really want is to know how one word can be a poem, a request the poet ignores as she tuts and tsks over my garden which I’ve asked her to advise on and which she does by pointing and saying that there is in the wrong place and this is how you choose the right place, it has to do with breath not some wild-ass idea you have about freedom and this has to come out and this and this and when we’re done a single shrub remains, a La Di Da Floribunda Rose, everything else in a heap at the feet of the compost bin.
Van Gogh’s Blooming Rose Bush, 1889
♦
Matilda Magtree 
That is beautiful .
Hello, you!
Crazy dreams…..they make sense while you’re there in that world, and evaporate almost immediately the minute you get up.
I love writing down what I remember. I find there’s often a tap on the shoulder amongst all the turtles with faces like a first grade teacher and wotnot. I made a chapbook a few years back on various dreams with mini collages for each.
Yes, I find themes recur, for me there’s the ‘I’m at Uni’ dream, airplanes, and swimming comes up time and again for me. That might be a little project to keep better track of these subconscious prompts and avatars for whatever is simmering
Absolutely worth musing over. Freud was on to something! (My recurring themes have to do with places I live, houses and apartments, none of which I’ve actually ever lived in, my favourite dreams… I have a thing for dwellings. Even in art.) Fascinating what different people have as recurring themes.