Three Little Indians
We pass through dreams
In their ambiguities
Their hazy edges and distorted filters
Forgotten corners and mixed up plots
Like this past night
I awake in the morning
With some mysteries solved
In my unconscious waking brain
My mind, capable of waking up
From deeper or lighter sleep
A night, almost restless
But truly restful
Which was it?
Both or neither?
The dreams meddle in our conscious thought streams
In our beds and couches
Where we lay our bodies and heads
By whom we lie
Who is it that we sleep beside?
Who is that?
Who is she?
Who is he? Who am I?
What am I dreaming?
What do I want?
What therapy is this?
Who am I working for?
Why do I love?
We do not call the native Americans or first nation peoples
Indians
That is reserved
For the vast subcontinent
Of other dreams
Other climes
Other thoughts
And hopes
Peaceful sleeping
Dreaming
And solving those issues
---As I tried to explain to myself and a couple others, I had some dreams that were intricate, seeming to resolve some issues in my life that perhaps go back generations. No more details, nothing specific, but waking up with some mysteries resolved. I was talking in real life about the mystery of my biological grandfather with my grandmother, who died at age 36. He, Fred Smith, went on to a long life and raised three healthy, good people, all girls.
My dad learned more about it later in life, and connected with these half sisters.
Could those be the Three Little Indians? Aunts that were not mine growing up. They have their own lives. I met one. It was pleasant. Eleven years ago. About five years ago visited the graves of the grandparents. Both sets not far apart.
Wow. There was a court document that showed my grandmother, Francis, with Fred. Not sure about that. Not sure what people know.
Most have passed on by now, their ages much advanced.
The generational mysteries. The dreams bringing resolution.
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