20 April 2011

'Til your sense of which direction completely disappears

A night of lucid but very strange dreams:

Disembodied voice: ...and you'll be riding this platform in the water during the show.

Me, trying to figure out how I'd stay on said platform: But...there is no water in that place.

Voice: Don't worry. It's all being taken care of.

Me: And I have a back injury. This sounds like a bad idea.

Voice: You'll be fine. We'll take care of everything.

It doesn't look fine. It looks like...water skiing. I don't know how to water ski. I don't even swim very well. I study a photograph of this set up, perturbed.

When I turn from the photo, I am in a large and lovely garden, where a party is taking place. I have been in this garden before, at another time, in another dream, but it was not so well landscaped or tended then, and I was required to do some pretty intense work toward restoring it. Now, it looks lush and terraced. I am once again confronted with the water-borne platform. I stare at it, and wonder how on earth this is going to work.

And all at once I am sitting at the end of a row of seats, and it looks somehow remarkably like my high school auditorium, even though it quite clearly isn't. Sitting on the stage is someone known to me, though not someone I know. This person is speaking to various others in the audience.

Person to another sitting behind me: Okay, we can work that out.

And then suddenly the person turns to me and says: You should have talked to me.

I look up to assure myself that I am the one who is being addressed.

More forcefully, the person says: You should have talked to me. You know that.

And though I smile in response, I am puzzled. This person is claiming a connection to me. Those precise words resonate in the dream: "claiming a connection." The words are specific and there is nothing ambiguous about the connotation of "claim;" it is an assertion. Clearly, there is a relationship here, one I hadn't begun to guess at.

My final thought is that I got it wrong again.

And I awake to the sound of spring birdsong with a very real sense that something happened while I slept.

Go listen to some good music: "Year of the Cat" from the album Year of the Cat by Al Stewart. I tend to have super mundane dreams and then there are the super specific dreams. Two days ago, sitting in a theater with the daughter, I had a stunning moment of deja vu, watching a woman with cropped red hair wave to someone up in the audience. I'd dreamed that exact moment en route to Iceland three years ago. That I even remembered where I'd had the dream gave me goosebumps.

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