Il sentiero

Published December 1, 2019 by Nan Mykel

New kid on the block

WHO? poem

Published December 1, 2019 by Nan Mykel

Our grandparents live

only in our memories. When we go,

they go.

Why care if we’re forgot?

As if we never were?

I speak of myself, now:

Why do I care if I am forgot?

As if I never was, never

strove to overcome my limitations,

only partly successful, yearning yet afraid?

If truth be told, my heart is rusted

from underuse.

My children and grandchildren

know this. Perhaps

being forgot is not

so bad after all.

Nan, Common Threads, 2012

I Learned Something Last Night

Published December 1, 2019 by Nan Mykel

I wanted feedback from my dreams last night so I “incubated” a dream, adding hypnogogic and hypnopompic thoughts and images (the going to sleep and waking up periods) to my focus. And I think I dreamed all night–during, before and after. But I learned that no matter how motivated, I could not record my dreams with my eyes closed, or even open while still lying down and not re-arranging myself in bed.

Day residues are easiest to recall, & the lone motorcycle in my condo’s otherwise empty parking lot (Thanksgiving, you know) clearly re-appeared in a fragment about a family next door not permitting a motorcycle to park in our own driveway.

The other dreams were fruitful, I could tell, but too many to fully record any. I do remember hearing the sound of scissors cutting. What I learned is that I must get new batteries for my old voice recorder if I want to really get serious about dreamsploring.