By Dolores J. Nurss

Volume VI: The Rift

Chapter 57



You know how sometimes you concentrate mainly on the action in a dream, but when questioned you can recall details of the background–but then wonder if you drew those out of your imagination or really dreamed them?  That's my dilemma about Deirdre's "room".  I definitely remember old, weathered furniture, and crates.  When I deliberately direct my attention to her room I see, clearly enough, the bureau, the hand-crocheted scarf in orchid and gold-cream, and all the rest of it.  But did I invent it consciously or discover it unconsciously?

After I wrote it, it surprised me to find, in going over old notes, that those same colors come up often with her, or colors very like them: orchid, heather, or mauve; cream, bone or ivory. They're not her best colors in terms of what matches her complexion, nor would they be my own first choice, though I don't dislike them.   They go nicely together, but would suit Zanne more than Deirdre. They mean something to her, though.  I have not yet learned what.

Later note:  When I wrote about her recollection of her first Lovequest Vow, the special clothes that Jonathan bought her for the occasion just naturally surfaced—in those colors.  That makes sense—Jonathan had no color sense at all, and Deirdre's sentimentality would override any that she had.

          I saw the candied palm heart in a brief flash dream, sold in a Stovaki market, so I introduced it here.  Separately I dreamed something about Cyran smiling with an unopened bottle.  I put the two together.

          I saw Cherone's cave in the background of my flash-dream about him.  Strange, to pull so many scenes from a few seconds of dreaming.  But flash-dreams do have that sort of concentrated detail and layered implications about them.

          I wrote the scene with George and Randy.  Same with Zanne's scenes.  But I know from dreams where both are headed.

          I've been thinking about Zanne, and the situation in Vanikke, dreamed in the last millennia, when it seemed like prejudice groaned on its deathbed, so much that I wondered if any of this would even be relevant by the time I wrote it up.  Now, in 2020, I feel haunted by how prescient the dreams turned out to be.  For I watch my own country go mad around divisions, where everybody becomes irrationally suspicious, afraid, and hateful towards every other group.  No one seems singled out; everybody seems actively demonized by somebody.  I see it destroying the "United" States at the very root of our nature—our revolutionary synergistic strength from unifying diversity.

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