(10/10/05) the eye from a peacock feather

(Entered in paper journal at 9:55 AM at Starbucks on 17th Street and Broadway in Manhattan.)

Dream 1

I was in a house that was near my mom's house. It was cluttered with blankets, like fmaiily had just finished spending the night there. I was alone.

I got a call on my cell phone from my dad. He was crying, sobbing quietly. I saw he was at my older brother's house. (In waking life, my brother had died of AIDS about 11 years previously.) He had left my mom in the middle of the night. He told me, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I had to do it. It wasn't you. It was your mom. It wasn't just her. I had to be free."

I had walked outside as he continued. I said something like, "It's okay, Dad. It's okay. I couldn't stay, either."

My dad now stopped crying and sounded like he was trying to hold onto or fake tears.

I stood by the back end of a moving truck. In front of me a hose or pipe or hydrant gushed water softly and thickly over the sidewalk, down to the gutter under the truck. the water had soft ripples, making the sidewalk look like diamond-patterned silt in a creek bed.

I wasn't really listening to what my dad said now. I think he was promising to come visit. he told me he had given me something. I looked in the hand (I suppose) I had been pressing close to my chest. I held the eye from a peacock feather, like all the golden green had been trimmed off and all that was left was the purple and blue circle.