Remembering Something
Jul. 7th, 2007 02:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
perzephone
Last night (Thursday night) I had a massive allergic reaction to something I ate. I'm hoping it wasn't the shrimp. At first I thought it was TSS because it is that time of month and I do use tampons, but the first thing I did after panicking was take an old Benadryl (the kind with both psuedoephedrine & diphenhydramine) & within an hour, the hives were gone & I was mostly fine.
Anyway, I went to bed early & was just laying there listening to a New-Agey shamanic-drumming/ambient noise CD, kind of drifting but not falling asleep. At some point I had a sensation that I was on a boat. I heard the quiet thumping of water on wooden planks, the quiet rhythmic splashes of an oar or pole & the sensation of surging forward... and then I was on the boat, a huddled lump of a heavily robed woman, trying to be oh so quiet, hunched forward straining to see through the thick mist. I was heading towards a large delta - I could hear water birds and smell brackish water with occasional wind bringing the scent of ocean to me. It wasn't exactly cold but it wasn't very warm, either, and the fog made everything damp & sparkly. Even my hands, which were bare, sparkled with dew over the knuckles & the prow of the boat gleamed like a steel arrowhead. I heard at some point the sound of voices & running feet, and I stabbed the pole down into the muddy river bottom & leaned forward into the belly of the boat, making myself into a pile of canvas and rope... It's funny because I didn't really feel like I was being pursued, more like there was some very important thing I had to do and I couldn't be seen doing it. And not like if I was seen would be dangerous to me, but dangerous to the person seeing me. There was a strong feeling of taboo about someone seeing me. When the frogs and birds resumed and the footsteps had faded, I continued poling myself along the river & I could feel the current getting stronger and pulling on the pole. The brackish smell had gradually become open-saltwater smell & the fog was lifting. The boat parted a thicket of reeds and I was in a wide bay. The ocean and the night sky had merged - the ocean was dark and purple and full of stars, with little flashes of phosphorescence along the tops of the waves - the sparse clouds in the sky looked like waves topped with phosphorescence, and there was no moon. I looked up at the northern star & found it in the sea & then looked to my right and saw the signal fire on top of an island past the mouth of the bay. I placed the pole in the canoe bottom & picked up a regular oar & began paddling my way to the island. The first conscious thought I'd had whispered in the voice of an old woman & she said, "It is time."
Then I sort of startled out of my reverie or woke up or whatever & grouched myself back to sleep since it was only 8am.
Anyway, I went to bed early & was just laying there listening to a New-Agey shamanic-drumming/ambient noise CD, kind of drifting but not falling asleep. At some point I had a sensation that I was on a boat. I heard the quiet thumping of water on wooden planks, the quiet rhythmic splashes of an oar or pole & the sensation of surging forward... and then I was on the boat, a huddled lump of a heavily robed woman, trying to be oh so quiet, hunched forward straining to see through the thick mist. I was heading towards a large delta - I could hear water birds and smell brackish water with occasional wind bringing the scent of ocean to me. It wasn't exactly cold but it wasn't very warm, either, and the fog made everything damp & sparkly. Even my hands, which were bare, sparkled with dew over the knuckles & the prow of the boat gleamed like a steel arrowhead. I heard at some point the sound of voices & running feet, and I stabbed the pole down into the muddy river bottom & leaned forward into the belly of the boat, making myself into a pile of canvas and rope... It's funny because I didn't really feel like I was being pursued, more like there was some very important thing I had to do and I couldn't be seen doing it. And not like if I was seen would be dangerous to me, but dangerous to the person seeing me. There was a strong feeling of taboo about someone seeing me. When the frogs and birds resumed and the footsteps had faded, I continued poling myself along the river & I could feel the current getting stronger and pulling on the pole. The brackish smell had gradually become open-saltwater smell & the fog was lifting. The boat parted a thicket of reeds and I was in a wide bay. The ocean and the night sky had merged - the ocean was dark and purple and full of stars, with little flashes of phosphorescence along the tops of the waves - the sparse clouds in the sky looked like waves topped with phosphorescence, and there was no moon. I looked up at the northern star & found it in the sea & then looked to my right and saw the signal fire on top of an island past the mouth of the bay. I placed the pole in the canoe bottom & picked up a regular oar & began paddling my way to the island. The first conscious thought I'd had whispered in the voice of an old woman & she said, "It is time."
Then I sort of startled out of my reverie or woke up or whatever & grouched myself back to sleep since it was only 8am.
