Ben, however, is not dead. He is stripped of his power by the smoke monster (hello, Egyptian hieroglyphics!), his leadership of the Island conclusively given over to Locke. I wonder if he will be able to relinquish it with any grace.
I am shocked that I am about to type this, but here goes: I don’t think Ben lied every time he opened his mouth last night. Only about two-thirds the time. And his dread of going under the Temple, and his grief for Alex — those were real. Also true: his distinct crankiness following Locke around in the jungle, and irritation at Locke’s Zen certainty.
I am intrigued by the exchange between Ben and Sun last night, the one at the Others/Dharma compound. “Dead is dead,” Ben tells her.
Locke, however, is not dead, to all appearances. And he’s not Christian-ized, either; he clearly interacts with other people, his physical presence is not in doubt. He carries torches; he makes noise walking out of the jungle.
Is Locke Locke? What’s in that big metal box the Ajira Airlines survivors found? Looks like it could be a coffin, doesn’t it?
And what does lie in the shadow of the statue?
*****
I’m sorry that I don’t have a lot of Lost today. I will try hard to write more for tomorrow, because I do have a lot of thoughts about it. I am haunted by a bad dream I had this morning, right before I woke up. Barring the dreams about losing my children, this was by far the worst dream I’ve ever had.
In it, my mother rejects me, utterly and completely. We are all at a wine tasting — my whole extended family. The dream takes place at Seven Springs, a resort we visit IRL every summer. In the dream, when I get to the tasting, my mother “starts in” on me, in a way she never has and never did IRL (in real life). “Are you going to read poetry?” she asks mockingly. When I tell her no, she says, “Good, because I don’t want to hear it.” But her comments escalate until I say, “Do you want me to leave? Do you want me to stop talking to you?” And she pretty much says, “Oh, yeah, get out of my life.” We yell at each other for awhile; then my dad shows up. He tries to get us to calm down, but he thinks it might be a good idea if I left, too. I go stomping off, in tears, realizing that I will never talk to my parents again, and that they want it that way.
I woke up relieved that it was just a dream, but very sad too that I would have such a terrible nightmare. What could that dream be about? Rejection of motherhood, or of my mother’s idea of motherhood? Rejection of myself as a writer — rejection of my dreams as a writer? Subconscious fallout from my sister’s graduation? I don’t know.
I am still feeling unsettled about it. And… well, lost.
Red Pen Mama 