We are not going to start at the end
after the dreams
have sorted everything out
all the raw ideas
turned soft in the night
enormous things diminished
red things pinked
all the doors that were open
closed one by one
most of the monsters sealed inside.
I could be a savage little thing in a dream
and not worry about harm or consequences
agile enough to escape our little traps
even if I’m forced to turn alone
and face the larger creatures that attacked us.
Eventually I’ll sense the surface tension
between sleep and waking, breaking.
No we are going to start
before all that, when we were tired
but fighting sleep to make the day
last just a little longer.
Yes, lets start there.

Judith A. Sears
©07/14/2018

yes my dreams are weird and fascinating

She had been running in no particular direction, just running away, swiftly dashing over rocks and around trees. Breathing hard she had to bend over when she stopped, gasping for air as she tried to catch her breath. She dropped to her knees then pressed her face into the cool grass. Desperately she tried to stop her ragged gasping and be still long enough to listen. Listen. What did she hear? Leaves fluttering in the eastern breeze. No footsteps. The incessant buzz of insects. No spoken word or cry of discovery. She sobbed in relief before she stuffed her fist in her mouth to silence herself. She felt safer because of the gathering darkness. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and despite all that reasoned she should go on, she crawled through sharp brambles into the shade of a rocky overhang and collapsed into a painfully dark and haunted sleep.
*
Her condition was described as a pervasive oblivion or a troubled unconsciousness. Really it was simply that she didn‘t wake up anymore. Still her eyes danced with activity under her pale eyelids, making her long brown lashes tremble. She made a near silent sigh when any type of melody played and anyone who watched her long would see a slight frown and wrinkled brow when they let loose of her hand though she displayed no strength or will to hold on. Day by day, night by night, nothing changed, no regression, no improvement; she was sleeping beauty clinging to life, yet lost.
*
He had no reason to hurry and every reason to take great care as he searched for the girl. She was a prize he‘d sought for several days. Fast and elusive yet she was small where he was steady and his long strides ate any distance she gained for all her speed. The heat of the day dissipated as the sun set into its usual place letting loose a night lit brilliantly by moon and stars. He continued on his way unable to see the marks of her passage but sensing the soft fragrance of her skin, her hair, her breath. Ah, there she lay, near silent, sleeping. He discovered her hiding place but left her undisturbed as he settled down for some light sleep of his own. Needing little he woke before her and set a cook fire, baking small cakes of short bread that he spread with fruit jam. He smiled as he heard her belly growl with hunger. “I declare a truce girl. Come break your fast with me.“
Trusting that there was no reason he would deceive her and terribly distracted by her gnawing hunger she rolled onto her back groaning and rubbed her eyes. Trapped!
*
Nurses rolled carts into her room and up to her bed every few hours. Their fingers clicking on a keyboard and eyes focused on the monitor, they paid only the briefest attention while examining her. Peeling back her eyelids and flashing a small light to see her pupils respond. Brushing a wand across her forehead they measured her temperature. Checking the fluids that were slowly dripping into her veins and measuring the fluids leaking into the bag that was clipped to the side of her bed. Monitors showed her pulse, blood pressure and oxygen levels. Everything had to be recorded several times a day on her chart for the physician to review before his brief daily visit. The doctor left it to the nurses to speak with the family about the girls condition. Though she was in a coma the tests showed that her brain was active. He would only speak to the family to report if she were to tip over into a deeper coma or appeared to be waking. The nurses aids were the ones who cared for her. They washed her body and brushed her hair. They dressed her in cotton gowns and spoke to her softly in friendly voices trying to coax her to wake. They made sure that during visiting hours her family would find her clean and fresh and only peacefully sleeping.
*
He held back the prickly vines so that she could leave her hiding place without adding more scratches to her skin. He offered her water to wash in and water to drink as she sat near the warm fire. He waited until she looked up and into his eyes before he nodded for her to take the jam smeared bread. She closed her eyes after the first bite and savored the delicious taste. He sat near her and untied her smock pealing it off her back, revealing the bloody scratches where the thorns had penetrated the cloth and left their marks on her skin. She hissed in pain as he washed away the blood as gently as he could, then applied a healing ointment to her wounds.
“Are you hurt any place else?“He asked. She turned to face him and uncovered her knees to reveal scrapes from an earlier fall. As he began to clean and treat her knees he noticed that there was an infected cut down the length of her leg.
“This should have been sewn up days ago.“ He held her leg up and scrubbed at the wound removing the signs of infection and making it bleed before he applied the healing ointment. He rummaged through his things until he found a needle and thread and began to stitch her up. Though she gasped in pain a few times and tears trickled down her cheeks, she did not cry out and held her leg still while he made neat little stitches and bandaged it tightly,
“What else?“he demanded. She quickly shook her head denying that there was more. He looked at her suspiciously and pulled off her shoes revealing dirty but uninjured feet. She wriggled her toes, smiled triumphantly and took another bite of the warm bread. As she wiped her hand across her mouth he saw angry red abrasions on her palms still damp from washing.
“How many times did you fall?“ he asked, sounding perturbed but looking amused as he smeared the healing ointment on both her hands holding each one longer than needed and rubbing them tenderly. She watched his large, strong hands on hers fascinated by how gently he used them to sooth her pains. With her hands now covered in ointment she eyed the remaining bread with a pout unwilling to taint the flavor. As if he could read her thought he pinched off a piece of the bread and offered to feed her. Grinning only somewhat innocently she took that bite and several more before she nipped at his finger making him yelp more in surprise that in pain. He pulled her smock around to cover her back and tied it up. He put her shoes on like he was dressing a child and she let him. He turned away from her to place the jar of ointment and the needle and spool of thread back in his pack and closed it up.
“Shit!“ he exclaimed as he turned back finding her gone, the remaining short bread gone with her as well as the pot of jam. Not quite believing she could really have dashed away so silently he paused to listen hearing only a soft and distant titter of laughter. He carefully put out the fire and started after her following the easy evidence she left in her wake. It was slow going but he doggedly went after her grumbling a bit along the way.
*
A group of interns, all working on clinicals fled her room relieved not to have been assigned to study her case. All except one who lingered dreading what looked like a boring assignment, to solve the riddle of the sleeping beauty. He reviewed all her labs and test results, read the nurses narratives and did a cursory examination of her himself that concluded with a hard pinch to her upper arm all with no reaction from his new patient. He slapped at her cheeks and shook her shoulders then sighed “Why won‘t you wake up?“ The head nurse, entered the room witnessing his rough treatment shook her head and said. “It‘s all been tried before, nothing wakes her.“ She motioned for him to sit by the bed and gently placed the girls limp hand into his. “Be still and observe her.“ She suggested. He saw nothing at first but as he watched he could tell that she was dreaming by her rapid eye movements. Resting his other hand on her leg he could feel the muscle tension tighten and spasm under his touch. There was a light sheen of sweat on her face and her cheeks were flushed.. “I wonder what dreams are keeping her away?“ He removed his hands and fancied that she seemed disappointed when he left. An aid took a tissue, wiped a tear from the girls cheek and whispered. “Oh don‘t cry dear one he‘ll be back.“
*
She laughed at how clever she had been to escape from the man and steal his food. She had to admit that he had treated her wounds well and they would soon be healed. She carelessly ran down a well worn path and when the sun started to set she darted into a wooded area. The moon was bright again this night and she elected to continue her run as long as her legs had any strength. By the time she grew tired enough to stop, she had slowed to walking for at least a mile when she found a leafy bush to hide behind with her back pressed up against a wide tree. She pulled the leftover bread and jam out of her pocket and ate a hasty meal, all the time listening for the man to come crashing through the woods. After a too short rest she heard him heading in her direction. She leaped up and began to run again but the branches caught at her clothes and it was a struggle to find her footing and not trip over tree roots and rocks. She had to be more careful and that slowed her down. She cried out in frustration as she heard him shorten the distance between them and could feel his hand on her tunic as he caught her and pulled her up against him. He wrapped his arms around her with satisfaction as she leaned back against his chest. Just as he triumphantly murmured in her ear, “I‘ve caught you, now you are mine!“ The girl disappeared right out of his arms gone and only a hint of her delicate fragrance and her empty tunic remained.
*
The weary intern made her room the last stop of his long shift and stood leaning against the door frame listening to the nurse‘s aide as she absentmindedly recited a fairy tale to the girl who seemed to be sleeping restlessly. She made her final check of the night and as the intern entered she glanced at him and before leaving said. “Our sleeping beauty is having bad dreams tonight.“ Impulsively he sat down on the edge of her bed watching her closely. Looking around to insure that there was no one watching he leaned down and pressed his lips gently against hers. Feeling her respond and unable to resist he deepened the kiss. Though he would be the first to admit and many would agree that he was not the least bit princely, his kiss seemed to halt her nightmare and miraculously her eyes fluttered open.
Looking confused but relieved she struggled to sit up with the amazed interns support. She gazed up at him, panting with the effort and said. “I can‘t run any further.“
“It‘s alright.“He claimed. Unsure what to say next he settled for “You‘re awake now. You‘re safe.“ He helped her lay back down and pressed the call button. Fearing that she might fall back to sleep he asked her, “Can you tell me your name?“
“Mary“ she replied. He laughed nervously and stated. “Good I was afraid you were going to say Aurora,“ when she looked confused he added, “You know like in the fairy tale, Sleeping Beauty.“ obviously she still didn‘t get it so he stated. “Never mind.“ and added. “You‘ve been unconscious for over a week.“
She looked up at him blankly then smiled wondering if he had just compared her to Sleeping Beauty, soon it didn‘t matter as the room filled with personnel and family. She clung to his hand without much strength but before she would let him go she asked his name. When their hands parted he said. “Phillip.“ As he was crowded away from her side he felt very certain that he could learn to be charming.
*
Listlessly, for he had been fond of the girl this time, the man faced his disappointment and began ranging around looking for another slightly immaterial wanderer to chase home again, always hoping to catch and keep one for himself in the place where sleepers go.

Judith A. Sears
©2018

Questions for Margot’s Photographer

perhaps her eyes were blue

they will never be less profound

when your eyes find these moments

do you touch them

do you have soft hands

do you hear them

is your voice quiet

do you have an instant fondness

for who she is or only

for what your camera finds

images that never fade

never drift into a different expression

was it despair that held her still

was it a long quiet moment

how many moments did you capture

before she became annoyed

before she drifted away

do any of these picture points in time

leave you sorry

Oh I can see they do not

you let them be

their own kind of strong.

Judith A. Sears

©07/04/2018

I have a great appreciation for portrait artists especially photographers. They capture a soul in a caught-breath moment and seal it on to paper. I discovered a photograph of a child by Lee Jeffries, I believe he called it Margot, I wrote what was on my mind not just about that photograph but about most of the incredible work I have seen on his website. It is about the kind of questions a word writer like myself has for an image creator.

If it were possible, I would use one of his photographs to illustrate what I wrote, but I respect that Mr. Jeffries might feel that he can not allow this without compensation. He should be paid well for his work. Unfortunately, though I wish I could, I can not pay. So, I will do the next best thing by providing a link to his website in an effort to be helpful and show my appreciation for what he does. I urge you reader to visit his website to see what I saw there. Watch his films, they answer many more questions than I thought to ask.

Website Link: http://lee-jeffries.co.uk/

Forcing me apart
pieces in places
I’ve never been I
floated into trouble
left in the sun I
just keep walking west
bits of me littering deserts
tossed by storms
particles dripping rain
silver slivers surrounded by dark
small luminous plasma orbs
points of gravity
pretending to be stars
who’s going to assemble me
in the face of that infinitude
I mention so often
I didn’t plan to become
a pretentious mass noun
I am after all unique
Judith, whether I’ve fallen apart
or remain whole, at least loosely.

Judith A. Sears
©06/30/2018

Well, maybe some definitions are in order. Although you should note that I would normally encourage readers to look words up in that wonder of all wonders a dictionary but my own research proved to me that very few people care if they are faced with a new or confusing word. They just skip right over it. So here are a few words from Asunder.

Asunder: (archaic) apart
Infinitude: (I’ve given you this one before but in case you missed it) the state or quality of being infinite or having no limit.
Pretentious: attempting to impress by affecting greater importance than is actually possessed.
Mass Noun: a noun denoting something that cannot be counted by a number or lacks a plural, Example: 5 loaves of bread not 5 breads. Thus, no such thing as 5 forms of Judith at least not this Judith. jas

What Nourishes My Hunger For Entertainment

PHOTOGRAPHS: I am a fan of several popular entertainers, though not the sort of fan that stalks stars seeking autographs. I never understood why anyone would want the scribbled name of any one. I do admire photographs and enjoy looking at my collection of handsome men and beautiful women as well as images that don’t fit the norm. I have worked with people often described as unappealing or odd or even less than human. However I find them more often, more human and more beautiful, than the brightest of stars. So, I am not always impressed by that special and almost unattainable beauty we see and enjoy. I once had my picture taken with a famous singer. I was at a concert with friends who sort of swept me along with them and ambushed this really tired and sweaty singer as he came off stage. He was tolerant and gracious. He wrapped his arms around us and smiled for the camera. It’s funny because that picture proved that my eyes can be easily dazzled whereas a camera can not. He wasn’t as tall as I had supposed nor was he remarkably more handsome than others of my acquaintance. He has pleasantly ordinary looks. But he sings with such power and emotion it makes up for all that. I still have a picture of myself within his embrace it is a novelty but not nearly as precious to me as pictures of my father. Those pictures fill me with longing for the decades I spent with him now that he is gone. The other was just a tiny snap of a moment. A reminder of a great concert I attended with friends.

MUSIC: I can’t help it. I love being entertained. Sing to me. Tell me a story. Dance. You steal my attention away from reality and that decorates my day. I admire talent. I am in fact amazed by composers and song writers and equally thrilled by musicians and singers. Every note planned for and executed, a neat package of music and words and emotions expressing everything from tortured love to exquisite beauty. I have wild dreams of being a guitar in the hands of a blues guitarist. I feel pretty sure I could sound soulful and weep as poignant and right as the finest Fender Stratocaster. Um, just for your information, I left the word ‘obscenely’ out of this paragraph I imagine you might find figuring out where I might have originally written it, amusing or not. It only slightly enhances the impact of what I wrote.

DANCE: The connection of music and math in human achievement is fascinating to me. The human body needs and loves to move. Dance is influenced by counting and rhythm and beat and melodies. Dancers express and interpret music through symbolic human movement. Children dance unrestrained with abandon and I have my own fond memories of dancing in the front room of my childhood home listening to Bolero and other exotic albums my parents owned. We were dressed like gypsies with long skirts and bare feet and no matter how ridiculous we probably looked we felt strikingly beautiful and graceful. I feel those same feelings when I watch real dancers and always long to move like I imagine I could as a child. I do in my dreams.

STORIES: How tedious the job of acting must be. To change your personality. To repeat lines over and over until you sound just right. To preform the same play nightly to different audiences. To be tossed around and made to fit a real or fictional persons clothing and life. To change how your voice sounds, how your face looks and to embrace and kiss someone you do not know or love, like you mean it. These things are all done in motion pictures just to interpret a story. And if you remember I admitted that I love to be told a story. So I love actors. I watch interviews with actors and find it interesting how seriously some take the responsibility they feel towards their fans. Others not so much. But I understand. I would never want to be a star or famous in any way. I just don’t care for the attention. So, although I admire most of them, I find the irreverent actor who makes wise [sic] comments that make interviewers pause and who just won’t take anything seriously, so much more refreshing than the polite well mannered actor/interviewee who willingly lets TV personalities dupe them into playing weird games that make them look foolish. Not that I enjoy anyone with a bad attitude I don’t appreciate rudeness at all, ever. But I am not the sort of person who wants to know intimate details about an actors real life. It is none of my business, yet you can find lots of intimate information online such as approximately where an actor lives, how much money they make, how tall they are, how many times they have been married and even their mother’s maiden name. It is ridiculous and intrusive. Then again you can also find out the wonderful causes an actor supports and all the great performances they have made over the course of their career. Only a hand full of people know anything about me, however I like to think that I entertain some of them. Oh and I support Arc of Wabash County.

Well it’s time to wrap this treatise on entertainment up. I think about the deep past when humans first had the time to do things other than fight to survive. This all probably started with a great story teller, the claps and stomps and rhythmic noises that lured a tribe to dance and sing and the drawings made in the sand and the paintings made on cave walls. All this as we sat enthralled around a fire seeking amusement and enjoyment with our fellows and we were fed. And so I am still, nourished.

Judith A. Sears
©06/26/2018