“He signed a consent for me,” Gerald clears his throat.
“What—does—that—mean?” I ask expecting anything at this point— perhaps the ceiling to open up and Odin to come flying in
I just hold my breath
He sets down his mug and pulls himself into a full yoga pose; even his hands and fingers; he closes his eyes
He takes a few deep breaths and with his eyes closed he breaths out and says in exhale,
“we taped our last session. He wants you to hear it.”
Why do I shudder in fear?
I watch Gerald reach for his phone to find the voice memo—
I suddenly ask now,
“How many times has he come to see you?” I ask this as I reach for the chai needing the strength suddenly “how often does he come? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Gerald looks at me in this way; you know.... like the cat who swallows the canary
and looks awkward
I sigh,
“well he admitted it to me that he has come to see you .... Gerald, you can’t say? Client/professional-confidentiality?”
“Where do you want to start?” Gerald asks me, adjusting his sitting position, “why don’t we just start the recording?”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Jörn’s voice fills the room.....
Recording: it always begins the same way, it is a kind of howling .... it howls— and rings in the air with a hammering and echoes like a chorus ....
like Carmina Burana but not as nice.... and more male vocals—mixed even with mine.
Some times I catch myself waking up with the sound in my lungs .... that’s when I get up to play.....
it’s become worse since ..... since meeting her.... min duva.....
seeing her eyes that day in the lobby..... like a turtle dove.... her eyes, those colors of the feathers and like my dream from that same night....
she tells me she dreams in color too.... I know from the other dreams.... all the blood
All the blood on my hands.... it is smeared like across my eyes, pours from my sweat into my eyes.... smeared like a giant movie screen across the wide battlefields, the rocks, the earth.... the mud..... even the ice and slush .....
this dream has always been a part of my life but I have never been able to tell anyone because..... this won’t make sense but— I feel guilty.... for something.... for things..... as though I need to —suffer somehow; martyr or do a kind of penance which I cannot explain because I’m not religious..... but I always get some all consuming heavy weight of guilt for —something— which.... I always have felt
and has made me often feel this need to sacrifice my own needs.... my own dreams and especially about happiness and part of why I felt this obligation to .... do the government work; this shame this need to give back something .... she’s told you, I assume? About my secret second job? I know since we signed the paper there that we have trust about confidentiality—and I know how to find you [here Jörn laughs and you can hear Gerald’s laugh too]....
when I saw her in the dream back in October, when these new dreams started to surface.... yes the colors.... with the dark blue robes and the red hair—I remembered something.... I was reminded of another dream or maybe really it is part of the whole dream—which isn’t really a dream —is it?
You know I never believed in any of this about reincarnation—not that I disbelieved either, I just didn’t really like thinking about that kind of thinking....
but there is as an older dream. Which is darker and what I was just describing to you.... where there is slaughter .... gruesome and —sickening—along with this a prevailing sick smell that you taste at the back of the throat— and mixed with it a wild high.... a kind of euphoric madness that I find .... where I feel most of the center of this guilt .... which often forces me to wake up.... why I need my music to .... release this
And ..... well.... [heavy sigh....]
In this dream I see another warrior torturing a woman.... and when I look around myself and see heavy bags of plunder and dead children .....and this I mostly find it hurts to look at in the dreams.... I think it must be about— or connected to.... his own family, his own losses.... I don’t know—is it me? Who then is it? But I feel it. Know it. Or is it more that I can’t deny it. That I wish I could. I know from the emotions that I am responsible for what I witness ....the tortured woman .... the mother to the girl.... she wears dark blue robes like her and has the red hair and as I see her I always hear someone screaming for her mother.... and it hurts in here.... in my pulse— in my beating heart.... I hear the sound of the girl’s voice screaming.... as I watch the torture of the woman being slowly slaughtered and cannot watch it any longer with the sound of her screams ....and this is why it seems—I have to stop it.... and do with one stab into her .... to give her peace..... but I know it is my fault somehow.... and then I see a dark blue image running away into the trees..... in the distance
“How many times has he come to see you?” I ask this as I reach for the chai needing the strength suddenly “how often does he come? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Gerald looks at me in this way; you know.... like the cat who swallows the canary
and looks awkward
I sigh,
“well he admitted it to me that he has come to see you .... Gerald, you can’t say? Client/professional-confidentiality?”
“Where do you want to start?” Gerald asks me, adjusting his sitting position, “why don’t we just start the recording?”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Jörn’s voice fills the room.....
Recording: it always begins the same way, it is a kind of howling .... it howls— and rings in the air with a hammering and echoes like a chorus ....
like Carmina Burana but not as nice.... and more male vocals—mixed even with mine.
Some times I catch myself waking up with the sound in my lungs .... that’s when I get up to play.....
it’s become worse since ..... since meeting her.... min duva.....
seeing her eyes that day in the lobby..... like a turtle dove.... her eyes, those colors of the feathers and like my dream from that same night....
she tells me she dreams in color too.... I know from the other dreams.... all the blood
All the blood on my hands.... it is smeared like across my eyes, pours from my sweat into my eyes.... smeared like a giant movie screen across the wide battlefields, the rocks, the earth.... the mud..... even the ice and slush .....
this dream has always been a part of my life but I have never been able to tell anyone because..... this won’t make sense but— I feel guilty.... for something.... for things..... as though I need to —suffer somehow; martyr or do a kind of penance which I cannot explain because I’m not religious..... but I always get some all consuming heavy weight of guilt for —something— which.... I always have felt
and has made me often feel this need to sacrifice my own needs.... my own dreams and especially about happiness and part of why I felt this obligation to .... do the government work; this shame this need to give back something .... she’s told you, I assume? About my secret second job? I know since we signed the paper there that we have trust about confidentiality—and I know how to find you [here Jörn laughs and you can hear Gerald’s laugh too]....
when I saw her in the dream back in October, when these new dreams started to surface.... yes the colors.... with the dark blue robes and the red hair—I remembered something.... I was reminded of another dream or maybe really it is part of the whole dream—which isn’t really a dream —is it?
You know I never believed in any of this about reincarnation—not that I disbelieved either, I just didn’t really like thinking about that kind of thinking....
but there is as an older dream. Which is darker and what I was just describing to you.... where there is slaughter .... gruesome and —sickening—along with this a prevailing sick smell that you taste at the back of the throat— and mixed with it a wild high.... a kind of euphoric madness that I find .... where I feel most of the center of this guilt .... which often forces me to wake up.... why I need my music to .... release this
And ..... well.... [heavy sigh....]
In this dream I see another warrior torturing a woman.... and when I look around myself and see heavy bags of plunder and dead children .....and this I mostly find it hurts to look at in the dreams.... I think it must be about— or connected to.... his own family, his own losses.... I don’t know—is it me? Who then is it? But I feel it. Know it. Or is it more that I can’t deny it. That I wish I could. I know from the emotions that I am responsible for what I witness ....the tortured woman .... the mother to the girl.... she wears dark blue robes like her and has the red hair and as I see her I always hear someone screaming for her mother.... and it hurts in here.... in my pulse— in my beating heart.... I hear the sound of the girl’s voice screaming.... as I watch the torture of the woman being slowly slaughtered and cannot watch it any longer with the sound of her screams ....and this is why it seems—I have to stop it.... and do with one stab into her .... to give her peace..... but I know it is my fault somehow.... and then I see a dark blue image running away into the trees..... in the distance
(*no doubt will be edited again still—the perils of writing while hiking & in public places; dictionary: excuse this maniac’s approach to a writer’s craft)
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