Butterflies are evil

I had a very nice dream last night. A person I am very fond of was by my side despise the land, sea and time that separates us. Seems that we were lovers for a dream, and what I felt was so warm, tender I so want to have it, but it is the craving that makes one suffer. He had his arms around me and his tender face was so close to mine. He made fun of me as always, and it was so warm, he felt his face in mine and claimed how soft it was, I replied as if and giggled. (Where did I get this idea?)

Although we live in different worlds, I was in a world where we were together and lived in the same country. He made fun of my fear for butterflies and kissed me. What a nice dream indeed. It’s a shame that it will not happen, or at least not so soon, or at least very scarce are the chances. My path drives away from his and he is not waiting for me. Who knows he’ll even be married when I see him again. How I tried hard for this nit to happen. Let the flow of things, my effort, my longing join or ways otherwise let my path cross with someone that reminds me of him.


His Disdain and Effort

I think I drift back in time in this dream of mine, my father was a rich farm owner, we were not as good in economical terms as we are now but in that time, which I think I can locate it in the 16th century or 17th when banks have appeared for a while and were seen, by the people of the village (i assumed it was a village) like a place where you could earn confortable life, with a much brighter future, like Lorenzo di Médici. Poor people always exagerate and distort realities with their fancies about something rather unknown. Most of the people in the village might’ve been poor.

We owned a farm or some land covered mainly by wild grass to the height of my hips, i don’t know the reason why.There were trails marked by the wheels of handcarts.

We lived in a large mansion, with tall wooden walls, I cannot remember it’s inside, it looked like a typical house owned by farmers in the Empire of China fused with the majesty of the mansion one of the mysteries of Sir Conan Arthur Doyle. At this point I’m quite confused about where exactly am I. Let’s imagine it as Iceworld, the name I gave to the places that my dream put me.

Strangely in this dream of mine, I don’t remember what happened before the point I started having the dream, if you can understand me. Like the role I was playing had its essence ( the past) already in side her, and only the deepest state of me knew it.

There was a pretty boy with an innocent face, I felt he was the one I had to protect, at that moment. He asked me to help him, he no food anymore and he had to work but no one acepted him as a worker because he looked weak, his clothes were dirty and have some tears, his hair was messy but there was some strange light in his eyes. I told my mother about it, she felt pity for the boy and suggested me to tell him to take a shower to cleanse his body, get some clean clothes, she was going to make something for him to eat.

I was happy to hear that. My mother had a good heart and would not let a boy like that go to waste, he seemed to be a good person. Of course my father was different, we knew we had to hide the boy, he was a closed mind and could not be so open hearted to receive someone with such a low status. I soon came to know he was homeless. It was already dusk and it was getting quite dark, I think we were in Fall.

Dreams do not follow logic sometimes but we sure had private street lamps. The field was surrounded by dried bambu canes, cut to the height of my navel, the security was not that tight because we’ve never had problems with the people from the village, me and my mother were like family to the inhabitants. And all of them feared my father for his harsh temperament.

We had a open chamber close to the main door, some thirty steps away. I knew how wide the farm was but not how long it extended to. Street lamps marked each corner of the chamber and each corner of the farm. The “chamber” was by far one of the most modern compartiments I’ve seen in the whole dream. It had solid walls, better than the wooden ones of my house, and a quite good looking door, but somehow it didn’t have a roof. There was were our farm workers took their baths, I think somehow it was required by some workers civil code or some law. Quite like what happens in restaurants, if you explore the”no entry” rooms a little more, you can find a water closet that has a shower.

I accompanied the boy to the entry of the water closet and he smiled at me, I gave the smile back. He was cheerful and quite outgoing. I asked him what he would like to eat. I don’t remember what he asked but he had a smile on his face and turned away.

I could hear the water running and Iwalked away, heading to the switchboard located some twenty steps away from the farm. I recall that it was attached to a street lamp. The wires connected all the street lamps like somekind of drawing that stroke the orange and blue sky. With it’s shining stars. I could see them clearly.

I tried to understand how they worked switching everything up. I did not know how to tuned them on so the boy could see properly in the field. The street lamps were all turned of excepting the main lamp with the switchboard attached. I was really puzzled. The power seemed to pass through the wires quite slowly. 3 minutes of experiment. Conclusion: the switches controled only the lamps outside the farm, “the farm corner lamps”.

I wonder if he was bothered by the dark. “Does he think that I was saving power turning only the farthest lamps?” I was worried.

I came close to the main door and asked what he wanted to eat with a loud voice. I still can’t remember what he answered me.

There’s a huge gap between that moment that I cannot remember and cannot find the creativity to connect it all.

It was the following day, it was morning. He who his name I am unware of was already working on the field, clearing off the wild grass close to the trail marks, he had already done a lot of work, more that a half of the grass around the trail had already been cleared off. I felt a sad pierce in my heart. He really was fighting very hard to stay. I stood behind the bambu barrier and the wild grass watching him, almost with a motherly look, a mother that didn’t want his child to wear his weak body out.

I stood there as a sign of support, as a sign that he could always count on me. I admire people who fight for their life and not sit there waiting something good will happen, I am somehow like those people who wait because they don’t know what to do. Because of the fear of leaving the cocoon that has hid you and protected you but you have no strenght or because you are unware of what to do to free yourself into the world where other people fly so freely and find the things they love.

I don’t know what happened in between this gap that again came to erase the things that have occured in this gap. Be it dreadful or marvelous it passed. And it was dusk already. I was sitting on a rock resting my face on my hands, still admiring him, he was so beautiful and worked so hard. It was a simple beauty, that could only be found if you look attentively and add into it puffs of honesty, cheerfulness and a good heart. I felt we had became good friends.

I stood up hastily, nervous, not knowing what to do as my father was approaching with quick steps in our direction followed by strong local farm workers. “What is he going to do to this boy? Please! What do I do now?” My father would turn into a madman, and hurt him! I got myself between him and my father.

“Who the hell is he?” – my father was yelling – “How did he get here? He is some homeless bastard that sneaked in here to steal money from me!? – my father was looking so fiercely at the boy and drew large violent gestures in the air. Pointing at him, threatening him with his angry face.

“Stop, father! Let me explain!” – I yelled, looking straight at him – “Listen, first” – I was angry too, he has always been so impulsive for no reason. Everyone has gone silent and I a lot of things have gone thought my mind, how should I explain so they calm down and not misunderstand? Please don’t ruin it, Hellen. (I will call myself Hellen) This is your only chance now.

I took a deep breath “Father listen to me, he works for you now, and he works just fine despite how he looks, mother didn’t say anything against this. He works just fine, better than anybody that stands now behind you. Where were they went he was working so hard here alone and has cleared this all?” I pointed to all the land he has cleared, the wild grass field has turned into a orderly field ready to seed. But my father didn’t even look once.

“So he is some homeless pest desperate for my money! Get him out of here immediately!” His men grabbed the boy’s arms and started to drag him away.

“Please, stop this!” I was already in panic “Don’t do this!” Don’t take him away from here! He didn’t make a sound, he only struggled on those brute harms that paralyzed him. He looked at me as he was dragged away. There was no guilt against me in that look, nor sadness, he understood why my father treated him that way, almost like he was already used to it. “Please don’t!” I had tears of grief and anger pouring down my eyes. Why I am so powerless?

My mother came hearing the ruckus. And also begged my father for him to stay. She was crying, like the typical mother that sensitizes the harsh husband. He did give up and ordered the boy to be let go.

Somehow she also managed to persuade my father to let him stay with a good payment.

Another day or more have passed. I only remember looking at the stars.

A lot of poor people, hearing about us taking in poor people came knocking our farm doors, begging food, money, job or whatever it was. It was like a strong wave of people trying to flood in.

My father somehow changed and gave everyone some money. They quickly left. But, there were people who were not so poor that were trying to profit from our family’s kindness. I found myself “selecting” the poor people from their appearence. Normaly the people who wear silk or better fabrics are apparently not in need of my parents goods. And I would turn them down. There were young average looking ladies with better clothes than I wore ( I did not want to spend the hard earned money in such futile things that comes and goes eventually) that tried to reclaim something, and looked at me with despise as they left. I saw, in between them, my brother.

(Back to the real world. Yesterday my parents had a huge bitter discovery: my brother had not told anyone about being caught in the bus without a ticket, and he was told by the inspector to pay the fine, the fine was over 150 euros. I don’t know how my father learned about this incident. It left my mother very anguished. And me also. My parents are salesmen and work very hard for evey penny they earn. Although we are in good terms economically such things make me very anguished to see the hardwork of my parents fade like such.

He foolishly went to pay the fine by his own. With his own money. I imagine that he didn’t say a word to protect himself. He does not open his mouth in such situations and does as anyone tells him to do. This is what bothered the whole family. Why did he not stand up for himself, while he disturbs the classes he’s in? It bothers me a lot for he being a fool. He did not ask help of the grown ups, nor ask me for help, he only received that he could pay it, and could get away from scolding. He really does not understand the value of money and the hardwork one has to go through to earn a single cent.)

Assuming what happened in the real world I think he was kicked out due to the “hopeless” state of judgement my brother had toward everything.

I was quite moved to see him wearing silk, willing to come back. How did he manage to afford such expensive clothes? There were people that looked like his friends also dressed in that fashion.

“Instead of coming here, you should invest your money on studying” – I gave a lot of advices, I think they are quite wise and useful – “It will allow you to become an important person with a bright future”

“You are right” said one of his friends turning away. Another boy about my brother’s age (13) came to me saying with a big smile:

“He is quite a brain now, he works at the bank and works in the first department painted in blue. He thinks of strategies”.

My brother was smiling of shyness. I was proud of him. He has now the status of a rich man with such a young age. He was a person that did not take people’s words seriously, he does not show his thoughts and seems as stupid as a rock. But we know he was the ability to turn everything into money. He always had this business talent. Yes, indeed, he works in a bank now, as the one to thinks to take the bank higher. He had a chance.

Although I do not rely much or trust his abilities, of my brother that is, he should have a change and consider people wich twice or thrice as much experience’s words.

I went to see the bank my brother worked as a thinker, strategist. I could see all the areas that he controlled. There were strokes along the outside the building that showed the areas that one had control controle upon, only the uppermen. As I walked round the building tears of contempt runned down my face.

And I left Iceworld.

This dream really made me get my hopes up on my brother. But also showed my loneliness. Maybe that hardworking boy is something that I search or a mirror of myself. I really became fond of him. My father sounded like a restraining barrier.