DREAM: The White Carnation, April 2020


15 April, 2020

I’m in a public space. It seems like a library. One section of a much larger building. We are close to the top of the building, or at least, I don’t observe any way to go higher. There are handrails you can look over and see down many stories to the ‘foyer’, or I assume so, as I don’t actually look down there. One entire side of the building is made of glass windows. From our handrail to those windows is approximately a two-lane-road’s-width away. This openness is contrasted with the ‘nook’ that this communal area provides.

I stay in this place for a long while. I interact with many people. V is there, and A too. I remember noticing how good V’s hair looks (it’s a deep but vivid red), not putting language to it, but being satisfied, with that ‘eating through your eyes’ sensational aesthetics. The three of us stand in a corner, maybe by a sink, and chat. 

Then there is an interval in the dream. Time passes, it’s as if I slightly woke up and then fell back to sleep and returned to the dream scape. I look around for V, somewhat aware that I’m dreaming, and also being totally okay if I don’t find her. I look through groups of people, but no one stands out as she would.

Then at some point similar to this, people start flooding back into the space. They’re returning from a funeral. That is when I realise I have been largely alone in the space. Only a few people, who did not attend the funeral are there, scattered separately throughout the space. I remember at least one is working on their laptop, maybe with headphones on. I am one of the people who chose not to join the communal ritual, or did not know about it. I feel a subtle… separation from community.

People walk by me, some in deep reds, and one of the first, if not the first person to enter the space, holds a big white flower in front of them. It’s paper-like… a large carnation, but my mind slightly says rose. Maybe it is when I first see this, alongside all the people’s melancholic demeanour that I realise I didn’t attend the funeral.

Then people are slouching around, many on the ground. I see B laid back, almost ‘collapsed’ into a man’s lap, on the floor. Grief. I observe it but I don’t feel it. 

As if B’s posture is impetus, I follow suit. I let myself collapse backwards. I don’t stop at the floor. I let myself fall through it. I enter into the non-space. The suggestion of form, but nothing stuck, nothing solid. It’s darker there. I see the materials that make up windows, I see light only in shards, only stuck to what reflects it. Lines, floating, overlapping. Nothing fixed.


Image by Kat Nancy, 2018

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