Saturday, May 7, 2016

The Guest House and the Team.






I went to bed super early last night, slept until ten, got up and let the dogs out, went back to bed and slept until the dogs woke me up again to be let in, and let them out at three, forgetting they had already been out until I was at the back door. They came back in fairly quick so I was drifting back and forth in and out of sleep for a while. I started having a dream that didn’t stop when I was awake. When I woke up I thought about the dream and the people in it and then I would go back to sleep and it would keep going.

It started out with me in my truck weaving through different pieces of large machinery that were working on my driveway. I was executing deft turns and whipping around the right place at the right time and the guys driving the machinery waved at me as I made my way through. I wound up at a dreamscape that occurred a long time ago, a place I call the Guest House, because I don’t live there even though I know where everything is, and the people there don’t live there either. It’s like we’re all just visiting, and I know these people from a previous dream. The first person I see is a young man, maybe seventeen, eating cereal from a bowl and he’s happy to see me. He’s still in his pajamas and no one else is up but he tells me everyone has missed me and it’s great we’re competing together again. I can remember something that happened last time, but what it is I cannot recall. Then a very young woman, maybe a little younger than the guy comes up and she’s happy to see me too, but she has a speech impediment and I cannot understand a word she says at all. The guy translates but we all think it’s funny. Others show up, high school kids, all just waking up, all very young, but I’m on the team. I just have no idea what team and what competition.

We’re in a van going somewhere and the driver, who is older than the kids but much younger than I asks me how we did last year. I have no idea. I don’t know if it’s a spelling bee or football or robot fighting. So I say, “Well, we did pretty good but I think this year will be much better.” And everyone kinda stares a like that answer was plenty strange, but no one says anything else.

We get to a mall of some sort and every store has food in the front of it and it’s all free. There are hundreds of young kids there and I still have no idea what sort of event it is. The really strange thing is that there’s two of the guys who drive heavy equipment in the back of the mall to get from one place to another. I drive my truck and we drive at insane and impossible speeds just to go two or three hundred meters. They’re on the team and the between the three of us we seem to be the ones everyone is counting on. For something I still have no idea what it.

There’s a tea shop and once you walk through the front door you’re outside, where there’s a circle of chairs and a small fire inside a brick structure. Three of my old girlfriends are there and everyone is watching a television where all three of these women are in some movie. I’m thinking that none of these three women know I’ve dated the others, but one of them gives me a look as if she really wished I hadn’t showed up. There’s a spout for hot water inside of the microwave and I have a lot of difficulty getting it to work. One of the women looks at me when I sit down and she says, “I never want to talk to you again but I hate it that you never call me.” And that was my cue to leave.

The young woman with the speech problem is trying to tell me something but she finally gets me to understand that I am to go with her, outside, behind the mall, and I’ve got a truly bad feeling about this. A fourteen-year-old girl is not someone I want to be behind as mall with and I’m relieved that other members of the team are also there. But something is horribly wrong. One of the young men has a knife and he’s holding this box made of plastic and metal in his hand. The others are telling him not to do it and they’re telling me to stop him, and two of the other young men, the oldest, are telling him if he does it they’ll do it to, that it’s time, and they’re all tired of it as well.  I can hear the debate continue but there’s a painted wall, cinder block with a thick layer of green paint on it, lime green, but faded like it’s been there forever a six days. There’s a screaming sound coming from the paint. I can put my hand on the wall and hear the screaming more clearly.

I turn and one of the young men is cutting a hose off of the box and the girls are crying and screaming and one of the other young men cuts a hose off of a box he is holding and the last one hesitates and I can see he doesn’t want to do it, but he’s part of a team, so he cuts the hose and the girl with the speech problem wails like a four year old in a crowded restaurant on Valentine’s night. One of the girls says something about their transplants not working anymore and the oldest guy says if he’s going to die it will be today and he’s tried of the machine.

We have to go, because it’s time, and we leave as a team.

Take Care,
Mike

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