Witch-fueled dreams?

Apologies for not blogging for the past two or three months, but I’ve been rather busy with my grad school program (last class starts March 7!) (Yea!)  I promise to frequent my blog more often now that I’m finally truly conquering my migraines and my writer’s block. (The discipline of once again having homework has really helped to focus my mind.)

THE-WITCH-e1443454804128Being that I do start my next (last!) class soon, I treated myself to a weekend outing to see the horror movie “The Witch” with my friend Ann and also met some new friends from a horror fan group on Facebook. (Yes, Facebook.) Hello Nikki, Kim, and Miyaka!  We all enjoyed being creeped out. It’s not a scary movie, and definitely not a slasher flick, but builds the fear through tension and atmosphere. I’ve read somewhere – I think in an interview of a famous horror writer – that the most important emotion any horror writer needs to create is DREAD. And “The Witch” definitely has that, as we watch the family fall apart, partly through internal turmoil and partly through external influences. (The exact balance of how much is internal vs. external is open to viewer interpretation.) I won’t give any spoilers here, but if you’d like to read more try these reviews (SPOILERS!):

http://filmschoolrejects.com/reviews/sundance-2015-the-witch.php

http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2016/02/23/the_witch_director_robert_eggers_on_the_real_history_behind_the_movie_s.html

It was good to escape out into the bright sunshine, discussing the Puritan interpretation of Christianity with Ann, carrying cute little mini-cupcakes. It was a beautiful day. But then came bedtime. I haven’t had any bad dreams caused by movies in years (like “Jaws” – and yes this was while living nowhere near an ocean). And I’m not saying this dream was caused by my afternoon viewing choice but….

I started to fall asleep in front of the t.v., so I turned it off around 11 p.m., and went to bed. But somewhere around 2 a.m., I had one of the more realistic dreams I’ve ever had (at least in terms of physical sensations). I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, trying to break through my rib cage. My heart jerked to a stop, followed by the strangest feeling of my body going limp and sliding out of the chair (the big comfy t.v. chair I’d been sitting in earlier), face first onto the ottoman, and then over the side of the ottoman, all in this weird slow motion like you see in the movies. The upper half of my body was hanging upside down, the top of my head brushing against the carpet.

It was then I woke up and was, of course, laying in my bed on the opposite side of the apartment. For a few moments I couldn’t move, although I’m not sure if that was more fear, more WTF?, or that sleep paralysis you hear about (which I’ve never experienced before). My cat Paco was curled up next to me; he jumped to his feet and cried at me as if he’d been the one having a bad dream, so I pulled him close for a cuddle while wondering what that black shadow on the far wall was before remembering it’s just the map of our solar system that’s been hanging there for years.

So that’s why I was awake – back in the big comfy t.v. chair at 3 a.m., watching re-runs of Law & Order, and eating a bowl of cereal.

For the world is hollow, and I have touched the Sky (City)….

West of Albuquerque, New Mexico, is the oldest continuously inhabited community in North America: Acoma Pueblo. Sky_CityThe 367-foot sandstone bluff is visible from miles away, but ageless adobe houses nearly blend into the top of the mesa. The Acoma settled here in approximately 1150 A.D. – for defensive reasons as the story goes – and although the majority of the tribe now lives on the reservation land surrounding the mesa, 50 or so tribal members still live here in their sky city. There is no running water, no electricity, and no sewers. That’s the way they like it. Many of those who remain are elderly, we were told, or just don’t care for the hustle and noise of city life. Some of them are painters or weavers or potters who are maintaining their traditional arts. (And they do beautiful work – while some of them take credit cards – really, just take a bunch of cash with you – it’s easier.)

Because the people value their privacy, the pueblo is not open to visitors except for organized tours, led by a tribal guide. After stopping at the cultural center down below – which also houses a museum and gift shop – you are taken up in groups by shuttle bus driven along the road you have to thank Hollywood for. Until Hollywood fell in love with New Mexico, there was only a “staircase” of sorts carved into the cliff face. But to make movies, they need equipment, and equipment needs roads. So now the tribe uses the road as part of their tourist infrastructure. (We had the opportunity to take the, uh, “stairs” back down the mesa after the tour was over. Some of our group did, but I declined. Too close to the beginning of the trip for me to trash a knee or ankle.) Ladder_cropped

There is no wandering wherever you want, no walking into people’s homes. We saw few people besides our guide and the artists displaying their wares. And a dog.

The colors in Sky City are muted: shades of brown and white against the blue sky. It seemed somehow fitting, because the history of the Pueblo is not all pleasant. No, it wasn’t like a somber funeral procession or something, nor did we feel anger or bitterness. Our guide was funny, entertaining, and informative. She spoke of having “the best of two worlds” (of getting to choose which parts of Catholicism to blend with their native beliefs, or getting to choose whether she was in her world or in ours).

She showed us the traditional adobe ovens still in use, the patched-many-times-over walls of their homes (if you look closely you can see bits of old pots embedded in the mud).adobe_oven

Then there was the San Esteban del Rey Mission (1640). In the Spaniards bid to convert the natives, Acoma men were forced to build it. Some of them are still present we were told: buried in the walls. And that bell you see in the photo below. They didn’t want it. But they were made to pay for the bell anyway – with their children. It wasn’t the first time children had been taken from them (never to be seen again).

You won’t see photos of the inside of the church (beautifully restored!) – it is not permitted. church_bellNor will you see photos of the graveyard which sits between the church and the edge of the cliff. It not only represents yet another feat of architectural engineering they accomplished on top of this bluff (no road to haul up all that dirt), but another way in which they were forced to accept a foreign custom: burying their dead. There is little room left in the graveyard. From now on, only the elders can be buried there.

But that is not to say there will be no other arrivals. On the far wall, overlooking that abrupt drop-off to the valley floor, there is a hole. It is for the souls of their children. Those the Spanish took away, the ones they have no idea what ever happened to. There will always be room for those children’s spirits to return to their people. It may take a long time for the spirits to find their way home, but they will always be welcomed.