But the redhead in “Dream One” feels like a soul sister. She isn’t wild enough to beChalcedony, the spirit woman who writes songs.
A fearful excitement permeates the dream: the lions embody something powerful, untamable, and injurious. It’s startling that the lion’s den is also my writing studio. While the lion’s aren’t stationed at a portal to some treasure, this is the sense of the dream. There is a portal, however: the studio window. It looks back into the coliseum where the lions are, back into the ordinary world.
One doesn’t have to travel to find the – what to call it – the mythic? The other world? The super real? The dream indicates that the ordinary and the beyond ordinary are in the same place. It is everywhere, superimposed on, or beneath, or through, consensual reality.
Lions do guard the access, and Chalcedony lives in that territory. It fits her boundariless mind, her disregard for convention, her extreme passion. She is less a human than a spiritual, erotic force, or a deity. She is close to chaos. And in Greek mythology, everything comes out of Chaos. Chalcedony must be one of the first generation.
The portal is like a vagina. For the moment I look through it, with the redhead beside me, I am Chalcedony. She experiences much of the world through her vagina (though she’ll take issue with this idea, or with its common interpretation). And I must pass the lion’s scrutiny before I see her.
Does this mean letting go of my mind? My conception of what art should be? Of what life is? “It’s the creative process when there’s danger, when the conscious mind knows it’s at risk.”
A lot drops away when I’m in her presence. I recognize I’m there by a feeling in my body, so I’m spared any ratiocination. The barriers between us fall away as easily if they did not exist.
Chalcedony wants me as much as I want her.
(With help from Sarah Rees, Ezra Matson-Ford, and Lonner Holden.)