Listening to other people’s dreams is boring, isn’t it? As you nod and smile and act all interested you’re silently wishing they would shut the hell up because they didn’t REALLY get chased by a giant swamp monster dressed in a David Bowie wig round a post office that turned into Pluto; they were alseep. Unconscious.
And yet we all still do it anyway. We all talk about our dreams, and we all occasionally have to listen. And if you like my blog, you can listen to mine. Or you can leave now.
Last night I dreamed that I missed a boat to the Galapagos islands with my tour group, so I had to get another boat, which was taking a special needs child to live out her dying wish by stepping over the line between life and death. Death was quite literally a place in the Galapagos. I’m really hoping this wasn’t a premonition as I’m flying to Ecuador next Monday (gulp!)
I walked with this girl to the line. Along the road towards total darkness were rivers and streams the colour of swimming pools, in which swam squillions of creatures I’d never seen before. There were neon octopi, giant purple spiders and fish with lots of heads that didn’t have names. But as we neared the darkness… a place that was literally curtained by shadows where the sun could never reach, thousands of thin, evil looking snakes replaced the rivers, making a river of their own.
I wasn’t afraid of this stream of serpents. Strangely my attention was on this little girl, who was walking bravely into death with a smile on her face. I felt an overwhelming fear wash over me. I turned and ran towards the sunshine, away from the shadows with the snakes ignoring me and slithering onwards into the black. I woke up to an enormous crash of thunder as a lightning storm split the sky apart over Brooklyn.
I wonder what it means.