A well written piece that sings, where the end is a question, then all the bits in between were a grand read.
Is there a beautiful poem here someplace, dreamtime is a sacred place that sometimes captures the soul, Yours Ian.T

I sometimes love to play with the words that someone puts out as this one is, I have put it into a poetic form, and sent it to you as a PM, you have asked for it to go on the stream, but as it is your words I will add as a comment to this Blog, thank you for the story, Yours Ian.T..

I have played with the Blog yet still feel it needs a lot of work to make it more real, so I have gathered the bones of the piece and spread it out as a vessel for the stream, but before it ever goes there it needs you to write it..
Here is what I did with your Blog writing don't forget this is in a rough state:-

Joan

The lights dimmed, dissolving into the velvet night
Soft sheets gathered her form into their open arms
Music from afar touched her mind in gentle waves
Holding her in a love of just being alone

Friends had left earlier for their own needs
Two days of peaceful dreams touching her ways
An excuse they made, but they exposed her smile
Two lazy days of reading as dreamtime captured her

Puzzling moments that seem to hold nothing
A comforting nothing that washed over her
Feelings hovered about her, gently sweeping through,
Seemingly lost in a world of perfect loneliness

This was perfection. too perfect in its being
A natural extreme that she loved about being alone
Nothing to disturb and distract, though pleasantly queer
She felt the dream carry on in its tranquil emptiness.

Feelings like to that of being dead, drifting forever.
Feeling nothing, a cloak of herself, that defied structure
Just a form, no perception, sleeping on heedlessly.
Racing away as the dreams took to their journey

Fields of black that she could feel under her running feet
Clinging to her hair, felt throughout her body’s form
A kind of empty coldness, without life or being
She tired of running, tired of the sleep state

Breathing in slow undulating waves that touched the shore
It was still and measured, deep, slow and recuperating.
Trumpet sounds cascaded into her dreams jolting a response
Many thoughts pressed her, as she reached for the phone

Why is the morning not here, it should be outside my window
Six in the morning a natural time to leave dreams behind
But it was still dark, darker than she remembered.
Possibly a moonless night, but that was odd for the night ?

There were no lights black had invaded like a blackout
Reaching for her timepiece, it seemed to be out of reach.
A strange feeling held her form not known before
Not standing or sitting, how could this be, just being?

Slight panic touched her way as if to question reality
Restless dreams screamed life into her mind
She called out yet there was only her mind shouting
Her body moved though it felt as if it flowed

The panic died away as spatial perception disappeared
No left hand, foot, or right of any feelings that should be,
Yet a quiet awareness of herself just being there.
This moment became a reality and stretched to eternity.

I love playing with the words and it is one of my bad things, to recreate the situation in a different form,