Well, maybe it isn’t quite as simple as that. The idea that
dreams exist in what is actually a different form of reality than waking
experience has long interested me. This, as I understand it, is akin to the principle
of shamanism. That’s why last night’s dream was so intriguing.
It was set in the extensive garden of an old country house,
with paths, stone walls and ancient shrubs. And in it I had two female companions.
The first was a young woman who was so thin and weak that she couldn’t walk,
and yet she seemed perfectly happy and healthy in all other respects. She was
so light that I was able to carry her everywhere, and did so as I went about my
business. I sat her on a wall or bench, for example, while I was gardening,
and in one ‘scene’ I held her up to meet the king who was visiting. He looked
like a mediaeval king.
The other wasn’t a flesh-and-blood woman at all, but a figurine
so misty in aspect that its identity was unclear. In spite of the vague
outline, however, I could see that it was dark blue in colour with a shiny
surface. I guessed it was made of either metal, glass, or polished stone. This figure
needed no carrying; it showed up of its own accord wherever I went, and I
venerated it because I knew it was sentient and contained the essence of some
very special woman.
It’s been filtering through my brain all morning, and the
meaning is pretty clear now. All except for one thing. I don’t know who the king
was or why he was there, and that was the sharpest scene of all.
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