I had a dream this morning. Parts of it were clear, but the transition from scene to scene was missing, the effect being one of simply appearing elsewhere by magic. There were three basic scenes.

Third Party to Myself

In the first one, I was young and slim. I was at a party or gathering of some kind, outside a wooded home with terraced landscaping. I think it was near the ocean, for the air was thick as with warm salt billows of air. There were Japanese lanterns lit.

As the dream began, I was descending down the terraces as though they were giant stairs to the street level where I could leave. I am an introvert, and I had the feeling in the dream that I wanted to get away from the crowd, from the demands placed on me to interact with gusto. In this scene, I was not just in my body but alternately watching me descend. So the “I” was hard to locate, slippery, shifting.

As I was almost at the bottom of the yard, at street level, a man caught my eye in the periphery, and I certainly caught his eye. I’m not positive who the man was. I didn’t have a clear view of him, but something suggested that it was Wayne, my old alcoholic boyfriend. 

Piece Goods Shop and Rose-Covered Fabric

Suddenly, he and I were in an old fashioned piece goods shop. There were some bolts of fabric on a shelf. I pulled one down that had a white background covered with a pattern of red roses. I told Wayne, “I’m going to buy this and make myself a new party dress.” Wayne always loved me in my dresses, so he approved of this plan. However, I was lying: I didn’t plan to make any dress, for I can’t sew and I knew this in the dream. I was deceiving him, telling him what he wanted to hear.

Funeral Procession, First Person, and Fake Weeping

Then the scene changed again. I was standing in a church with others. We were all facing the back of the sanctuary. It was a funeral. Men dressed in black were proceeding into the sanctuary, toward the altar. I never turned and looked at the altar. I looked at the men. They were in double-file. There was no casket, for I kept looking for it. The men all had their heads hung and were crying. I was in my own body now, and I hung my head and pretended to be sad and weep. I could see that I was wearing the rose-covered sundress that I didn’t and couldn’t make. In actuality, I was not sad at all and perhaps even secretly glad that I was getting away with some kind of deception in only seemingly blending in and doing what I was supposed to.

What the… .?

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