A Dream Within a Dream

Tonight as I left Planet Care, I saw a small black beetle crossing the parking lot. I crouched down and whispered to him, "Hey little guy. Be careful. Don't get run over." A few minutes later, I pulled into a gas station. Tank was empty. I went inside to pay the attendant. And as I stepped out into the parking lot, I saw another beetle, identical to the first. Except this guy was on his back and having a hard time righting himself. I picked him up and held him in my hand as I crossed the asphalt to a little area where bushes were growing. I let him down safely on the oddly colored stuff that covered the ground around the bushes and wished him well. And immediately after that, as I prepared to grab the pump, I saw a tiny rhinestone. I picked it up. I thought, "This can live in an art project: a mosaic of various odds and ends. And when I see that rhinestone, I'll remember the beetle that I saved."

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This morning, I put on the only pair of shorts I possess that I'll wear in public. In the front left pocket was an empty dog poop bag. In the front right pocket was fifteen cents. I paused to reflect on the commentary this scenario provided.

I had a dream that a horse came inside a giant house where I was staying. It took a dump in the entry. I said aloud, "No one saw that coming." Some kids proceeded to run through the house, tracking horse shit up and down the hall. I wondered who would clean it up. Obviously I did not feel compelled to do so.

Also in my dream was a boy who could turn himself into a black dog. Once a dog, he could make himself invisible. But he usually only did this when threatened. He vanished once and I realized what made him feel threatened, so I offered comfort and cajoled him to make himself visible. I realized, though, that making the boy reappear was for my own benefit. If I could move through this world invisible, I would.

The boy was the son of a man who had lost his wife and his home in a recent tornado. The giant house was a hub for people with no homes.

My dreams issue forth from my sub-conscious at rapid fire pace. Even when awake, I find myself dreaming. Streams of images and dialogues that I do not consciously conjure flow across the back of my eyes, like the images on film that are clarified when they are cast through shutter and lens. I wonder what creates this phenomenon.

I have written a message to myself and taped it to my desk: i wanna play.

And this week, I will learn the results of the recent biopsy of my endometrial lining.

In the meanwhile, I'll go about my daily business, plotting my scheme of perpetual playtime, contemplating the ability to make myself disappear, gazing at clouds, and remembering that life is a dream.