3/8/98: Last night I dreamed of receiving a letter that had been on its way to me for several years. My friend Jim Freeberg had been visiting and had taken in the mail for me one day, but one letter made its way into his suitcase when he packed and went home. The letter arrived in the mail, in a larger envelope that Jim had addressed to me. The envelope was white, like a smaller-than-normal manila envelope, with the flap on the short end. It was addressed to me with large, colored markers so the front was all writing in reds, blues and greens.
Upon opening the envelope, I discovered a sheet of writing in the form of poetry, with stanzas, but the text escapes me at the moment. Something to do with completeness and forgotten dreams I seem to recall. The letter was from a strange old friend by the name of Cynthia Wells (In the waking world, I actually lost track of her maybe a decade ago and I have no idea what became of her). She was heavily into some strangenesses: many attracted me but some that turned me off, hence our drifting apart.
Also enclosed was a photograph which depicted a rural setting, with rustic barn and ranch house in the background. In the foreground were two rows of people: the first seated in wooden chairs, the back standing. Cynthia was seated on the left-most chair in the photograph and she looked out and off to her left a bit, with one of those enigmatic looks she would sometimes get, where I didn't know if she was in a marijuana haze or just being strangely creative. Her hair was blonde and appeared as though it had grown back from having been cut short, perhaps several years previously.
In fact I have no idea what has become of her and it reminds me that I have been meaning to put up a page of "Missing Persons" one of these days, to track down parts of my life (and "wholes" of others) that have gone astray. What has become of my long-lost memories: how have these people embroidered their lives and what part might they play in my own fabric in days to come??
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