1178 MY BRAIN HEALING DREAM part 1

2014
I am a young woman, living with my mom, dad and sister, Lauren
We are getting ready to move into a new apartment, which
Is located in the basement of Circus Circus in Las Vegas (???)

(Life is a circus
Will and I plan to fly to Vegas for an ortho meeting, later this week
And though, at first, the basement proved perplexing
I came to remember how often thoughts of a basement
Continue to stir sensations of unidentified fear from
Somewhere deep within my mind)

Though the rooms in this apartment are spacious
No closets are to be found, so
I seek out my dad and ask:
Where are we supposed to store our stuff?
Dad leads me through the bedroom, which
I'm to share with Lauren ( as had been true when we were young)
And while walking from one end of our bedroom to
The other, I notice how perfectly everything has been arranged
Except for the fact that I can't figure out how to find
All the stuff that I've stuffed, over most of my life

As we approach the back wall of the bedroom
I'm relieved to see a narrow door, which had
Somehow escaped my awareness
As Dad opens the door, I, expecting to
See the interior of a closet
Find myself staring out at a very wide and
Exceptionally long corridor; in fact
This corridor is so long that I can't see its
Beginning or end ...
I guess you could say that
This corridor (like the historical time line)
Seems to go on and on, pretty much forever

Anyway ... I, feeling deeply perplexed
Turn to my father, who hears me ask:
So ... Where's the closet?
(You know which closet ... the one that holds
Everything we need to remember, which
Primal fear shoves behind layers of denial

Without uttering so much as a sound, which
Proves unlike my father's loquacious nature
Dad points to a door across the corridor, so
I walk over to it, turn the knob, and find myself
Stepping into a brightly lit, narrow
Rectangular room, filled with
Rows of large conference tables, each of which is
Piled high with building materials and a wide assortment of
Miniature sized construction tools, such as:
Jack hammers, cement mixers, electric saws, layers of plywood
Plaster and bricks for assembling solid walls, pliers for pulling out
Loose screws, and bolts for tightening nuts that
Might otherwise lose hold of a sense of existential independence

In other words, I'm looking at a bunch of stuff that makes
Sure we'll all fit so snugly into our proper places that
Safety is assured, while at the same time

Adjustments can be made so that

An instrument as complex as the human brain
Can develop trains of thought that free us from sticking to
Any mindset, which has proven to
Condemn the least bit of wiggle room
For fear of change, which might disturb the arrangement of
That which has been deemed proper behavior for
Men, women and children, and thus does adjustment
Provide for an expansive comfort zone, which

Allows the uniqueness inherent within
Each well organized human brain to

Gain insight into the road less taken
Rather than remaining stuck within
That endless corridor, which
Offers no door, leading to change for the better as we age
(Which makes me wonder about this contradiction:
If it's true that wisdom comes with age then
Why do so many of the aged lose their spirits?)

While wondering what we're to make of
All of these construction materials
I turn to Dad with a quizzical look, because though
I know full well how a proper woman is
Expected to function
I've noticed that certain tools seem ready to
Aid in disassembly, followed by
Lengthy periods of reconstruction

However, Dad, being a straight forward kind of guy
Simply shrugs his shoulders while gesturing to
Yet another door in a wall that leads us
Toward I know not what to expect, next
Then, much to my surprise
Upon turning that knob, the door does not budge
Until I spend quite some time questing for a key

Upon finding the key in the last place I'd thought to look
(Because I, like the woman who'd swallowed a fly
Had swallowed the key to regaining my lost identity)
The door in the wall opens, at last, and
I find 'myself' walking into the middle of
A dimly lit, windowless, gigantic room, the size of
A warehouse where countless rows of
Racks of clothing on hangers run in
Both directions as far as my eye can see, and though
Most of the clothes nearest the door in the wall
Prove to be up to date, the farther we get from
Where I stand, today
The older the clothes, hanging around, seem to be
And while standing my ground
I feel as though each rack, which is topped by
A shelf, showing an endless selection of hats
Is offering me a comprehensive view of that which we had
Covered our naked selves up as society
Groomed us to show the world only
Those traits that we'd felt proud to parade in public, while
Tucking everything that might be considered less slightly
As deep into this closet as possible before
Instructing us to lock the door on deeper truth into
Skeletons that rattle our nerves,  and
Thus do we swallow the key that might offer a hint of
Insight into the whole Megillah that comprises our true identity

Then, all of a sudden
The dimly lit warehouse goes dark, and instead of
Finding myself locked out of this storage room
I find myself locked up tight within this mausoleum
Surrounded by racks of history, and when
I cry out for help, what do I hear?
I hear the fretful cry of a baby, left to fend for herself
And suddenly, the historic walls of this timeless tomb
Begin to close in on my thirsty mind ... you know, like a vice

At this point, my head can't help but hurt
Because, somehow, I know, without a doubt, that no one
Will hear  my voice, suggesting that no one proves
Capable of  saving this mysterious baby from pain but me ...