On Tea and Dreams
A Mid-Life Morning Reverie
She slowly sipped her tea. The handmade mug had no handle so her hands were warmed by the fragrant blend of mint and green tea.
There are some mornings when the world weighs heavily. She had felt the heaviness on waking. That dull throb under her eyes. That groggy feeling of not being able to really wake up.
Why some mornings and not others? she pondered. The mint-scent of her tea revived her, as was her hope.
She surveyed the view from her apartment window. Tall trees, naked branches reaching to the sky, dark against the flat-grey backdrop of the sky. They swayed in the wind.
She was glad to be inside when the trees moved like this. It meant the wind would be sharp, cutting knife-like through the world, intent on scarring all those foolish enough to leave the house without a beanie on. Maybe the cutting wind would blow away the dullness in her head?
As she sipped she thought about her dream.
She often had vivid dreams that stayed with her for a long time. She often woke not knowing where she was, having to survey the room carefully. Where were the curtains? Where was the door? Oh. I am home.
Always a relief.
Last night the past crept it, as it so often does. The dreaming subconscious has no vigilance, no way of keeping the memories at bay. And so they creep in.
She had never really liked her now ex-brother-in-law. Why she would dream of him last night when she hadn’t seen him in years? She didn’t like it when ghosts from the past infiltrated her mind. Obviously it was her subconscious dragging them to the semi-surface. But why? What did he and his brother, her ex, represent?
She knew enough about dreams to know not to take them literally. It was her brain getting rid of the minutiae of life. A massive hard drive dump, if you like.
The trees swayed more violently outside. She couldn’t hear them but imagined they’d be rubbing against each other, groaning.
She’d been standing underneath the deck of a house, in her dream. The house, not one she had ever seen or been in, was ringed by a wooden deck. As it was built on a hill, the deck’s underside was visible when you stood next to it, slightly downhill.
The vegetation was thick, cleared for the house, and a dense forest with thick undergrowth grew close to the house. It was like the builders had carved out a space for this house in the forest on the hill.
She stood there, looking at the underside of the deck. The wooden planks almost tilted up towards the sky. It was a dream after all, although she had wondered in the dream how anyone could walk on the top of it if it was tilting so much.
The planks of wood were straight and even. The frame was visible, also made of wood. It was strong and supportive. Carrying the load.
She stood next to her ex-brother-in-law and her ex-husband. They were discussing something. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but she knew it was about the deck.
Her ex-husband was shorter than his brother. Shorter, kinder, saner. Sharing only their mother’s genes, it seemed the tall, imposing, somewhat impressive looking brother got all the crazy. But it took a while before you saw that. At first, as always, the impression was of a stable and impressive tall man.
How wrong first impressions can be.
For over twenty years she had seen the havoc he had wreaked on so many lives. Even his own parents. Multiple partners, several children, even stepchildren, bore scars of his narcissistic and often vindictive personality.
She sipped her warm tea, thankful she was not a part of that world anymore. But why had he crept into her dream? What part of her subconscious was dumping memories or feelings in the shape of him?
He was always a bully. That she knew. He bullied her. Made snide comments, sexist comments, mean comments, very slyly every time they met. At first, he was so subtle and sly no one but she noticed.
Then one day, he was a little too cocky, and his brother heard.
From that day forward he had protected her. Made sure he was always in the room. Called him out if he let a misogynistic comment slip.
She used to wonder what it must have been like for the poor women in his life. She was always grateful to have met the kind and caring brother. With a twinkle in his eye, always quick to smile.
She thought how long ago it all seemed. At halfway through her life, ‘middle-age’, she had changed many things in recent years to ensure that the second half of her life was one that she could enjoy and live to the full. No more putting herself last. No more being beholden to others.
Was it being selfish? She pondered this for a second. The tea’s freshness refreshing her head. No. Not selfish, she decided.
Living comfortably with yourself, loving yourself, caring for yourself is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. Surely it then makes it easier to give of yourself to others? How do you have anything left, otherwise?
The mug in her hands was cooling. She looked out at the trees, still waving in the wind. Today the grey sky a thick blanket. Yesterday had been clear with the wintery blue a lovely reprieve from the winter-grey.
She stretched, standing tall, then drained the rest of her now lukewarm tea. She placed the mug on the sink, ready to be washed with the next round of dishes.
Perhaps that walk in the windy winter-grey is what is needed, she decided, but I’ll need my beanie.
~thanks for reading~
Lisa is based in Finland, writing poetry and prose in her spare time. She has had poetry published in several anthologies and is currently working on several poetic projects. If you’d like to keep in touch: Newsletter, Instagram
