Thursday, 22 January 2015
I was in my 70's dated living room, my bare toes curling and combing through the avocado wool shag. A ring sounded from the rotary phone …. no caller ID back then. Making my way to the table by the door to lift the receiver up off its cradle and the two clear buttons, stretching the curly cable and bringing the heavy mocha coloured blower to my ear. A woman's voice very sweet sounding through the wire was conjuring an emotion in me that would describe as GLEE. I recall feeling more excited and tickled by what she was saying than i have felt in a long long long while. I was jumping up and down the way little girls and boys do. It was the Queen of England you see. She was saying how much she enjoyed my company and that she was going to hold a dinner in my honour. Ta da !!!!! Now it is my impression from the dream that this is not "our" present day queen Liz number 2 but the Elizabeth I. She was calling me from another time. Regardless , she is going to hold a dinner in my honour !!! My friends and I did a little dance of joy there in the living room next to the macrame owl wall hanging. "I JUST GOT A CALL FROM THE QUEEN….. THE QUEEN !! WAHEY HEEE HEEE !!!!!! "
Then a sort of cloud came rolling over suddenly changing the mood and whole atmosphere and a strong anxiety entered me. There was a hand on my back pushing me out f the house and down the steps. I recall a dark blue hooded sweatshirt , a big fat belly and an ill intent connected to the hand that forced forward. I was in danger of some sort. I found myself out on the gravel driveway sitting on the bottom step at the base of the wooden porch. There was no more dancing for joy. I was trying to hold myself together… hold it together… for some unapparent reason. I felt confused. The heavy handed big bellied hoody man, my oppressor was leaning on his pick up truck.
It was warm out, it was summer, there was dust from the gravel and dirt drive in the air. I can see the sneakers and denim jean legs of the man leaning on the truck. Still sat on the bottom step my feet on the gravel, I held a rock in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. I placed the champagne down on its side onto the rock surface of the drive. Rather than "popping" or "opening" this bottle as one normally would do, I went about "getting into it" by bashing the belly of bottle (lots of bellies in this dream) with the rock. I bashed it over and over in the same spot until a whole formed and the shattered chunks of glass caved in and formed and opening. The drink was midnight blue, It was a dark frozen lake that I had broken through. A whole in a wast sea of ice. The sea horses below in their sleepy algae meadows dreaming and snoring up effervescence that delivers their lucid dreams to the surface….popping… off gassing… whispering tales from the deep. The moon was shinning through the shards of ice turning them crystalline and seemingly melting, they were not melting, and not as kind as ice for they would cut your voice out if were to swallow them. I took up a spoon and very slowly, very carefully dipped it in to the cold dark fizzy lake and let the drink sift its way out of the shards and spill itself clear onto my spoon. I ladled the celebratory sips into a glass cup who's rim was powdered by the heavy dust from the summery driveway, dust the pick up truck kicked up. I was able produce one clear drink worthy of a toast. I wiped the dust from the rim with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I don't recall the sensation of drinking seahorse dreams.