I dreamt I was at an opera being held in a great field. I was with my husband but I walked away from him to where a family was seated in special boxed seats made of concrete and rabbit wire: a sallow mother, a pallid father and their only child, a daughter.
I walked right up to her. “So—You’re the bad daughter,” I said. And she was. A fat ugly poor white girl with bad skin and dull eyes.
The daughter nodded her approval of me. Her parents left us alone. The ugly daughter was smart and tough. We liked each other a lot but after my brash greeting I was very careful and formal. I understood that she was a being of vast and profound power.
I had to go then. The show was starting.
As a parting gift the ugly daughter gave me a box of delicate and slender arrows.
“I’ll put these in my check bag and not my carry-on,” I said. She laughed.
When I left her I thought, “I was a crazy, to go right up to her like that. She's unbelieveably powerful, the ugly daughter.”
Then I comforted myself. I do things other people won’t do and go places they won’t go. That’s why the gods can use me.
(from 04. 30. 06)
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