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Dreams of the Past Few Nights

Last Night.

The train drew towards my station and I bade goodbye to my friends; they do not exist in reality, or at least, I do not remember their faces, but they were friends in the dream.  It was an old-fashioned train, with cabins within which the seats faced each other, and doors which had to be manually opened.  I alighted with a skip -- almost a dance -- carrying a brief spell of contentment.  The train drove off.  We waved.  I seemed to still be whirling lightly on the platform.  Then I stopped abruptly and the contentment vanished in an instant.  Among a thick screen of trees was one -- or perhaps several -- directly facing me, whose leaves had turned gold and were rapidly falling.  Some branches were already bare.  The tree (or several) was glowing with a wan light.  It was beautiful, but I felt so dreadfully, desperately sad.   

Two Nights Ago.

I seemed to be back in university again.  I find myself there quite often of late.  But it wasn't the same place; never quite the place I knew.  And each time I return, I find myself more at ease.  The other students were less fearful.  I was less remote, less afraid.  Each time, it felt as though I had gradually atoned for something, and yet it also felt as though I had begun afresh.  This time, I felt myself among friends.  Our tutor was playing a game with the group, I think it was a kind of word disassociation game.  Each student called out the name of another once they had had their turn.  I was painting during this -- just a small, quick painting.  When my turn came, I found myself unable to play, but instead, I immediately made a remark which made the whole group laugh.  And I laughed.  I finished the painting: a flock of swallows, with a few butterflies among them.  The student next to me -- who felt like a friend then too -- turned to say that it was beautiful.  And even I could feel that it was.

Three or Four Nights Ago.

Marc had made a mosaic.  A huge, larger than life size mosaic of a Tyrannosaurus on the floor of some grand building.  I think the building had vaulted arches, though it wasn't a church.  There were palms and a fountain, and it was very quiet.  Perhaps it was a recreation of the Crystal Palace.  Marc had gone to sleep after completing it.  The mosaic was so big, I had a little push scooter upon which I trundled from one end to the other as I made a tour of it.  It was beautiful.  I remember the gradations of tone and impressions of scales created by the placement of little tiles.  Not all of them were square.  Some had been cut into different shapes to fit each other.  Some of the tiles were made of mother of pearl and agate.  I trundled back and suddenly found Marc inspecting his work, rather ponderously.  Then he said he had to leave.  


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 20th, 2011 07:55 pm (UTC)
Those are quite fascinating ^_^

Tonight I dreamt I had to promote queer culture in one of the most difficult and criminal-peopled neighbourhoods of Naples. All during one night of Carnival. Uhm.
Aug. 20th, 2011 08:08 pm (UTC)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )



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