on September 10 2001, I put my husband into detox for opiate addiction
(he’s my ex-husband now)
I went to bed, exhausted and broken hearted
when I woke, I called my Alanon sponsor to tell her what had happened
she said ‘turn on the television’
and plane flew into the second tower as we watched in amazement
it was as if the world were having a nightmare
and I was having a nightmare along with it
Nightmares come in service
Nightmares carry the most powerful medicine
the unconscious can throw at us
We need to wake up and write them down
learn to turn to them and ask: “Why are you here?”
Wonder: what prompts the nightmare?
Don’t turn away.
Last night I dreamed I was in an indigenous village
I went into the death hut
where there were mummies
Front and center was a huge white man
massive torso, dead white flesh
with three arrows sticking out of his chest, his heart
I wake and write it down and roll into a reverie
wondering what happened here…
“I had it coming,” the dead man tells me
“I got what I deserved,” he says
but there’s little remorse, he’s big and entitled and shallow
He is the Patriarchy
For months I was visited by rapists in my dreams
First, I would wake as they reached to grab me
run their hands up under my shirt or dress
and I would wake before they could hurt me
then, I dreamed full-on rape
shocking, humiliating, painful rape
and, then, as I faced Rapist, the archetypal energy
I had to understand:
He is Me, not just Them, but ME
Nobody hurts me the way I have hurt me
I am unapologetic in my worst moments of self-appraisal
and truly, believe me, I am kinder and gentler now than ever in my life
still, the shame my bodymind carries is intact
demanding perfection, impossible perfection…
till the night when the rapist came and I fought back
I’m a bit all over the place in this moment
No wonder
I return to my Night Flights manuscript and word search rape
Twenty two times the word appears.
Twenty two times.
Here:
Raped Again and Again
As I weave my way through Psyche’s landscape, over and over
writing, rewriting, editing and being in awe of Psyche’s threads
I dreamed a series of rape nightmares:
—
I am working at a place
told to put my phone away while I work
I’m a low-level, low-value employee
A man appears
I hide in the closet to be safe
I see it’s a disgusting man
He pulls me out of the closet, rapes me and leaves
and then I return to hide in the closet
—
A group of four couples—we have taken over a vacation inn
One of the men is very drunk
He stands at the foot of our bed
I shake my head. “No.”
He pushes himself on top of me while I chant, “No, no, no”
I can feel it as I write this:
I don’t wake; I stay in the dream
and face him as he rapes me
penetrates me
He leaves and I lie there, sobbing
I wake, crying in the safety of our bedroom
On the surface, this is troubling
I am feeling so very rich and whole and yet, yet
yet this barrage of shadow is chasing after me
The last of the rape trilogy, I am evolving into a warrior
Here. Now.
A man is angry with me
for carelessly turning off the engine of his rinky-dink go-cart
He stands off from me, fuming
He has a hook in his hand
A huge silver hook he extends it
grabbing the crotch of my jeans, dragging me to him
I know I will be hurt and raped
I don’t stop the dream from happening, I don’t wake up to run
I face him, making a soundless scream
Nobody intervenes
I punch him in the face
and he laughs, leers at me, his face right in mine
I scream again
I pull back but I am hooked
I arch my body back while I punch him in the face
He continues to tug me
I move my face away from his
rearing back, readying myself to headbutt him
To stop him
My face smashes into his
and I wake, shaken
I fought back.
Let me make my point: about 9/11
We attacked the wrong countries in the Middle East
because the Bush Oil Family had an agenda
Some kind of vendetta against Saddam Hussein
masked as “What’s Good For America”
Our soldiers didn’t respect their culture
We walked all over them, destroyed massive bits of their culture
and we thought they should thank us for bringing them our yummy democracy
Instead, the hated us
and still hate us
and we wonder why?
We never look at the part we play, we just lash out
and worse, now, history is being erased
by white men
and their women
with their red hats
They have weaponized god
while raping the earth, collecting money, making up their own coinage
dressing the White House in gild and shit
How do we keep writing?
How do we keep dreaming?
How do we shoot arrows into the hearts of the patriarchy
so that their hearts break open and learn
How do we open their defenses so that they may learn from what they have done
instead of doubling down and projecting their shadow, their insecurities on to brown people?
How, really, do we get through this time of dissolution
This Negredo, the falling apart, in the alchemical process…
How?
