It’s the dream where a man and a woman stand on the beach. The woman could be me, but I see through the man, his fears. Our love is growing thin, he is afraid that this is the end. And this is the last attempt. If he doesn’t reclaim my love tonight, this is it. And on the beach we stand, other couples, groups are arriving as the sun sets. We begin to move towards the curling waves, preparing to wade in to await the Elven star, the one of reassurance. I turn him to face me, and I stare into his face. I see what he sees when he stares into mine. I feel his worry.
As him, I feel the kiss. It is a soft peck, the precursor to the three gentle kisses she always gives. The last kiss is held, and he feels the love, he feels the joy it is simply being with him, in simple form. Clasping hands, we move forward as the sky darkens and then lightens with stars.
People are waist deep in the water talking, laughing, and the ocean breeze flips curls and tops of dresses and shirts. Our arms are around each other as we look from east to west, expecting the star to shine where the sun has set, but still unsure. A flash of light bolts between the people in the water. It is a pale yellow, hidden by the murk of the sea. He bends down and captures the light, not knowing what it could be. It is a black miniature rottweiler, small enough to fit in his palm. An orb of yellow grows around it as it pants and wags its butt in excitement. Ooos and Aaahs are heard, but not towards our curious find, but towards the Elven star, she has appeared, man times larger than the others, brighter and magnificent. Holding our little pup together, it glowing in our hands, I kiss him again, and as we part, we feel each other’s smiles.
Among the many weird things that occured in my sleeping state last night, Bob Dylan appeared. I’m not talking 60’s Bob Dylan, or 80’s Neo-Christian Dylan I’m talking about that adorable little old guy who just received the Medal of Freedom Bob Dylan.
I was with a group of people, of whom I forget. I know a couple were “talent” agent-types, then a couple friends, but none who were any kind of expert of Dylan. We are in this odd eatery. I remember stopping in for Beaver Tails (canada) but ended up asking for Horchata or Rice pudding, which resulted in a glass of water with a splash of tomato juice, spices, and with sprouts and a sprig of mint put in (don’t ask me how that tastes.) We’re sitting in there drinking our beaverchata sprout-juice when Dylan comes in with about 4 huge and burly body guards.
We all kind of stare in amazement as he sits down, and smiles at us. Dream-me kind of had a geekish fit. But almost immediately, whatever the discussion we had been having was, it forcefully turned to “higher” talk. Discussion which no one in my dream had a right to talking about because none of them had any idea what they were saying. Alas, I think that is almost always the case. Every time anyone said anything, they looked to Bobby D for approval, but he just kept a little smirking smile on, as if he was used to this. Then some idiot I was with loudly whispered, “oh my gosh, I can’t believe Tim Burton is right there and we’re talking about this!”
Dream-me blew a gasket.
I totally understand wanting to look like an intelligent human in front of someone you admire, but these people were just trying to be impressive, and obviously not succeeding. It always comes out as shallow conversation. I am pretty sure Dylan didn’t even speak, we got the bodyguards to talk, but not Dylan. It’s a weird phenomenon, people only have to be suggested to be something worthwhile and others will fall over their feet just to try and wow this “alleged” awesome person.
Have y’all experienced this? Have you ever accidentally done this?