Waking from a Dream
Samaa Abdurraqib on Audre Lorde
The following is what I was able to record after waking up from a dream in the early hours of the morning on Wednesday, May 15th, 2019. Dreams being what they are, some of the details that remained are fleeting, nonsensical, and profound. The end of the dream, the moments with Audre, are crystal clear and in sharp focus. They were clear to me in the dream and during waking, just as clear as they are to me now as I’m writing this brief intro, six and a half years later.
It is the post-apocalyptic present. But I don’t know why. I just know that I’m trying to get into a van to get to a safer place. I’m traveling with a small group of women, but I don’t remember how many. Three, maybe. I don’t think I know them in my waking life. I’m not sure how we know, but we know that we can’t be stopped—it’s too risky. I don’t know why this is exactly, but I know that the police view us as dangerous. Since we can’t be stopped, we try to make sure we have everything we need.
We end up in a massive campus building—perhaps a student union. The main hall has massive golden chandeliers and comfortable chairs and couches. The building is extremely secure. There are no windows. The front door is monitored by cameras. People are moving around the halls and the communal spaces. It is busy. All of the women I can see are Black and Brown.
I’m not sure if I’ve been here before. I don’t think I have, but the space feels familiar to me somehow. It is clearly the site of some kind of a resistance movement. The time we are in seems to be deeply anti-woman and full of white supremacy.
Everything is motion and buzzing. There are lessons being taught, and some people are filming resistance videos.
I remember the end of the dream clearly.
We gather in the big hall. In the background, students are filming some kind of political report that is to be broadcasted. While we are talking and watching the filming, the woman monitoring the door approaches a small, leadership sub-group of us and tells us that the police are at the door. I’ve somehow found myself in this leadership sub-group, so I hear the news along with the rest.
We all start scrambling to hide everything. We focus on hiding the food —especially snack food. During this time, there are laws regulating what food women could eat. I fall in with the group of women tasked with hiding and disposing of the food.
I eventually find myself back with the sub-group of leaders and a few others in the big hall. We are all discussing what to do about the police.
We are unafraid, but we’re also aware that we need to act in a way that would keep the larger group protected. We also know that our response to the police has the potential to bring a raid to our doors.
The woman who encountered the police at the door told us it was two cops—one white and one black. The white cop stayed in the car and sent the black cop to try to reason with the black woman who is guarding the door. He is trying to convince her to let them in. He gently reaches out his hand and tells her that, if she let them in, they’ll just take a quick look around and that’s it. After a quick look, they’d leave us be. She tells him that she can’t make the decision on her own—she has to bring it back to the group. She is trying to buy us some time. The cops sit outside as we discussed.
All of the voices are debating—mostly in a respectful and orderly way. I am quiet, but attentive and focused. This is the way I normally am in groups that are deliberating. While everyone is talking, I’m observant, but clearly not ready to speak yet.
I turn my head slightly to the left. Audre Lorde is sitting very close to me. I don’t know where she came from, but she is there. I don’t remember seeing her at all prior to this moment. Her hair is short, and she has circular gold glasses on. She is wearing a green linen shirt or sweater over a white turtleneck. She notices me. She notices that I’m absorbed in the conversation, but quiet. She turns to look at me a couple of times. At one point, we make eye contact and she smiles. Somehow some of us, including me and Audre, are awkwardly and impossibly sitting around a table. After she smiles at me, I pull back from the table a bit and that’s when I notice that I’m wearing my yellow “A is for Audre” t-shirt. In that moment, I wonder if she’s seen the shirt. I wonder if that’s why she keeps looking at me—because she knows I’m one of hers.
As a hush settles into the discussion, she turns to look at me again. She smiles and asks, “What do you think?” As a response, I make a small, shrugging face and gesture. Audre gently laughs and says, “This little one doesn’t give a shit!” [Implying that I don’t give a fuck about the cops and think we should let them in because I’m not afraid.]
I wake up.
Samaa Abdurraqib (she/her) is an auntie, a poet, and a certified Maine Master Naturalist. She currently serves as the Executive Director of Maine Humanities.
