You have to practice reality. When your husband tells you his dreams you have to insert lilacs into his story. “Were there lilacs next to the dancing mannequins?” Try to listen but ask the right questions. Memory too is practice. Wake up. Ask if there were shoes in your dream. In general a good dream has good shoes.
In my dreams the one wearing black rubber boots is me. You have to practice reality. Today in snowy Syracuse, New York, I shall wear my ungainly dream boots and practice memory as I walk through the clotted snow banks. I remember being seven years old and wearing rubber boots that fit over my shoes—I told my mother they were like Egyptian sarcophagi for my Hush Puppies. My mother said, “yes, your feet are the lords of Egypt.” You have to practice.
In the foaming sea of wild flowers that is your dream, look down for your shoes.
I am loved. I am not afraid. There were lilacs. The boots had wings.
Planet of the Blind 