March 7, 2001
"To let each impression and each germ of a feeling come to completion wholly in itself, in the dark, in the inexpressible, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own intelligence and await with humility and patience the birth-hour of a new clarity."

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
Dream images

Dining room
Large, square, colorful, surrounded by windows like a porch, filled with air. There is so much air in there. You can move around. You can walk around the perimeter of the tables. The dining room is empty and set up for the next morning's breakfast. Sam and I are late for the meal. We were outdoors. You can see the forest from the windows. There is a river flowing past the inn.

Hungry and excited. Too late for food. Suzanne can't write to the margin anymore. Why is it in narrative?

Hungry and happy.
We missed dinner.
I feel special,
distinct from the crowd,
but not lonely.
My friend is magic.
Outdoors now indoors.
River, trees,
trees, river.
It's still light,
the sunset is gold,
the near dusk is jewellike and calm.
I can breathe.
I can walk.
Fresh air clings to my clothes.
We look for leftovers.
Doesn't matter what.
I have absolute faith
there'll be food.
White napkins with their wings folded
rest before takeoff.

That's all.