Dream Journal # 5.
The memories of last night’s dream are locked away as though
behind a safe, every second like a grain of sand from the sand clock, falling
atop the casket.
Who was there? Some re-union had befallen. My mind is cast
inexplicably to the big-haired girl whose name I should recall from Biology
class in freshman year. Christine?
It must have been Spencer Breidenbach – the undigested
memories from our chance meeting, obscured by extraversion and anger.
Where did I go in the dream? It must have been like a video
game – very dramatic, like a post-apocalyptic survival game, but with less
terror. What could it mean?
I look bout my plank room for a clue.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix lies open
on a fresh floor of wooden planks, almost ivory in hue. My room is getting
remodeled, joining Joann’s, Starbucks, and ElPollo Loco. Everything is
changing, and I am unready for it.
Do things inevitably get worse over time?
My dream was definitely sexual in character. My memory can
only recall fragments of past dreams similar in mood: A lust for power,
perhaps?
2.
I was on a train. That is certain. I was riding some
especially hopeless-looking version, of the Sprinter to and fro, missing
appointments – an obvious homage to Jean’s overbearing influence.
The dream is clearer now. Does
this mean I must quit my job? Is work actually usurping the throne of my
dreams?
Is there a middle road?
There must have been. I tried to
escape.
Consciously, I am reminded of Andrew saying that
Kresten and [I] are both doing ‘what we want,’ and that others envy us.
My memory produces an image of me
playing Magic the Gathering opposite a logical friend( maybe
either Andrew, Tyler, John, or – stimulatingly – Aisha) as the train passes
over a lush but unforgiving marsh.
Change is strange.
3.
There was a theatrical production that I was a part of. The
cast were the night crew at Joann’s.
4.
The injustice of Andrew’s attacks crawls up the side of my
neck to my left lobe like the addictive sexual stimulation of seeing woman’s legs.
It is the envy of the introvert for the extravert, and vice versa. Kresten has
it, too.
Who were they in
the dream?Will they choose to understand me? Does It Matter?
5.
I must go beyond them. That is my escape: My train home. I
must be careful not to miss it. Life is not perfect.
What lies beyond? A paradise of
fantasy and drama.
Should I rejoin the Palomar
theatre program? No.
I am strong. I am heroic. I will
not blame. I will tolerate.
Yet I feel a pang of guilt. Is it
for my prior foolishness, like an addiction to recurrent mistakes?
Maybe. Or perhaps it is that, like
Harry, I want so badly for Ron to join me in my quest.
6.
Harry Potter. The only people who find it childish are those
who themselves are. Myth is a mirror for the ego.
I envy Kresten as I have revered
Joseph Campbell. He is more, however, than a need to me. He knows that.
Was Ally in my dream?
Dm.A.A.
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