I've been having some strange dreams lately. The dreams are populated by
people who I don't know, have never met or seen. And the context, the
"sets" of the dreams if you will, are foreign too. It seems very strange
that a person could dream about people they have never met. It can't be
that I'm remembering people from past lives, as the dreams are all set in
contemporary settings. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not telepathically picking
up on the dreams of other people in my apartment building. But I doubt it.
I may be a little on the psychotic fringe sometimes, but I'm not psychic.
Last night I had a very unusual dream set in Los Angeles. I've never been
to Los Angeles. But there I was regardless. I was with "my people" as they
say in L.A., but had become separated from them somehow. Sitting at an
outdoor table at some sort of restaurant or bar, I was having a drink. Other
people, people who were not "my people," came and sat down with me.
And then Bill Murray showed up. He stood there and nodded at us, but didn't
join us. He was wearing a brown suit and a thin tie, and it occurred to me
that he was looking pretty good for his age. I found myself wondering whether
he had gotten a face lift. Bill then left. "Bill's acting has really improved since
his movie role a while back" I said to the people who were not "my people."
They seemed to generally agree with me.
I went in search of "my people." I came across a group of kids in this
one place, very young kids, who were dancing with each other. I decided
that really wasn't for me, of course, being an older person. Then I came
across what I thought was a discotheque, one of those discos they have
in the big cities that are open in the afternoon. I asked how much to
get in. "Five bucks" the goth-looking girl at the booth told me. I paid
the money and went in.
But it turned out to be a theater, the kind where they put on plays. The
theater was about one-third full. I sat down in a seat. After a minute
or so I noticed that my hat was missing. I leaned down and felt beneath
my feet, trying to find the hat. I finally noticed that the man and woman
next to me had my hat. I grabbed the hat, and told them they'd better keep
their hands off my hat.
The show started. The first act was a guy who came out with a saxophone
and played a short composition that was about one minute long. The next
act was a guy who walked across the stage in a t-shirt and some boxer
shorts and shoes and socks. He walked across the stage from left to
right and then disappeared. When he came back out again on the left side
he had removed the t-shirt. When he came out again he had removed the
shoes. I pretty much knew, for some reason, how this one was going to
turn out — he would get down to just his boxers, but the next time he
came out he wouldn't be naked but would be wearing a suit of armour.
That's when the dream ended.
Now I kind of feel cheated. For one thing, I never did get to see the
end of the show that I had paid the five bucks for. And even though my
trip to L.A. didn't cost me anything, it being a dream and all, I really
didn't get to see any of the interesting stuff in Los Angeles. I didn't
even get to visit Chinatown, for pete's sake.
I never did find "my people." But I did get to meet Bill Murray, which I
guess is some consolation.
I really should write a dream-letter to the Department of Dreams and
lodge a complaint. The quality of the dreams they are sending me these
days is terrible. Whatever happened to those "big" dreams I used to have,
those incredibly intense "numinous" dreams that revealed something about
myself and the world? It seems they are a thing of the past.
Shallow dreams. Am I really that shallow these days? Or is it perhaps
just the fact that I've been emptying myself out so much lately, letting
go of things, saying goodbye to "my people"…wherever they are.