ARRRGH! It seems like the blog world is full of discord. I don't have the time or energy to deal with it and read all these hypersensitive posts and comments, even though they are important and worthy of discussion. I like that blogs attack the big social and political issues, but sometimes I just need to get off all the soapboxes.
Instead I am thinking about my dreams. On Sunday night, I came down with a virus. It hit me while I was sleeping and did strange things to my dreams. Whenever I'm sick I always have particularly vivid, compelling dreams. This one I call "Priestess of the Orphaned Dead."
I kept finding corpses. Abandoned ones with no friends or family to give them a proper burial. At first I was repulsed, but found myself taking them in, washing them and preserving them, wrapping them up in ragged yellow shrouds and sewing them inside. I placed a pinhole in their eyes through their eyelids so they could see. Then I suspended them all in a hole in the ground, coming back to check on them and care for them occasionally. In the waking world, it was a gruesome dream, but inside my dream I started to genuinely care for my job. It wasn't so bad after the first few times, and I realized that these dead people were grateful to me for the sensitivity I showed in caring for their bodies; they wanted to be acknowledged and remembered, and I was the only one who could do this for them. The dream felt ritualistic-- dark, and perhaps grim, but not taboo or evil. I've been thinking about it all week.