Steel grey again this morning on Harris Creek; rain during the dream time and prospects all day today. The creek is flowing south this morning, following the wind out into the bay. It is a flowing mirror reflecting a still grey sky. A story or a person is not unlike a flowing mirror, a linear representation of plastic images that are not arranged in sequence, but rather woven into a seamless fabric. Italo Calvino recounts the method in his novel, The Castle of Crossed Destinies. A group of travelers spending night in the same castle, are unable to speak after passing through the forest surrounding the castle, and use a deck of tarot cards to tell of their journey to this story-telling place.

The dream body is such a seamless fabric and the images which compose the fabric are "over-determined", subject to multiple interpretations. Freud's method of dream interpretation is analagous to that of Calvino's group of travelers. Freud, like the travelers, knew what had happened "the day before" and so interpreted the symbolic images in a way that conformed to his knowledge.

Dream interpretation, or story-telling translates one way of meaning into another way of meaning. The dream body itself in unaffected by the translation; it continues to mean the way it means. For me, the most important insight to be gathered from Freud's work on human dreams, is not in what the dream means, but in how the dream means. The way the dream means is the way the unconscious body means; it means through "over-determination", or, imagination. The interpretation is a conceptual process.

A wet, grey morning on Harris Creek; the rain gods are still with us; it is a deliverance. Somewhere in the windy silence a barking. A solitary place is a hidden place, the place a child might hide, as underneath a lilac bush; inside that bush, seeing, but unseen; delight in not responding to Grandma's calls, like Narcissus.

Seeking solitude is regressive, a "return to an earlier condition." Narcissism is a stage in the development of a public person. The public place is the place outside the hiding place, it is the world outside my room or womb; it is that space that exists between my garden and the wilderness. The public place is the stage where the drama and the comedy are acted out; to be in public is to be in the play.

The solitary is a non-participant, one who wants to watch, a voyeur. In regressive movement the drama is taken back into the body of the watcher; real public persons are reduced to images, like reflections in a pool. It is in that place that I read and write. Tap Tap.

Much thanks to the gods; it is raining this morning on Harris Creek. It began last night in dream time and continued through the early morning as I fell and rose from the dream, and it is raining now as I tap out these words. I project myself upon all that lies outside me, and in my fantasy, every thing is grateful. Every tree, every perennial and every annual, the grass and even the soil is feeling a profound pleasure in the drinking of the water. Pleasure, and relief from thirst. Our pleasure is relief from the experience of lack,

There is always something missing inside and out. Thirst is slaked, only to return; there is no final slaking and end of thirst until "death do them part." Within the continuum called time/space, or the ego complex, pleasure is related to pain as slaking is to thirst; where Eros is, Thanatos is. They are here as I tap out these words this morning on Harris Creek, my thirst temporarily slaked in this time of drought.