Only a Dream Away

Psychedelic Jail Cell/ Sleeping Car

Lots of big dreams over the past couple of weeks that should have been recorded but alas, were not. I can't ignore this one because this morning I received an e-mail from my teacher about his life in the late '60s that dovetails neatly with the subject matter. This is my dream from last night:

I am discussing with a fellow herb classmate, Mary, an herb event taking place somewhere out of state. She is showing me a program, or perhaps it was a train schedule. I understand that one of my teachers (Michael) will be at this event, so I decide to go.

The scene changes and I am standing on a train platform -- an oversized one high above the street. It is a sunny day and I know that I will be taking this train to the herb event. The wind is blowing and I notice I am alone. Where is everyone? Isn't anyone else getting on this train?

Scene jumps again -- I did not see the train actually pull up but now I have just stepped into a train car and the door, which takes up a whole wall, is slid shut behind me with a loud metallic clang. I feel as though I have been pushed in, or tripped in, right off the platform (not off a main aisle in a larger train car; this seems like a whole car unto itself, though it is very small, about 9x9').

I go straight to a very small square window opposite the door. It is placed too high on the wall and I have to get on tiptoe to see out of it. I see another train going by, and faces of strangers inside. They are going in the opposite direction. I think about Michael and wherever it is that I'm going.

I back away from the window and look at the room for the first time. How odd; it is painted in bright, psychedelic colors -- the floor and some of the walls are bright orange and lilac. I look down at myself and I'm wearing knee-high boots and a fluttery chiffon pleated mini-dress in a lemon color, with angel-wing sleeves. My lucid self pops in and wonders why I'm wearing something so outdated and  inappropriate for traveling.

The car has no furniture, just a fold-down bunk on the right side, attached to the wall. I lie on it and it is extremely uncomfortable, hurting my spine. The mattress is old and thin, with little substance. I ease off the bed and look under the mattress, which seems light as a feather. Someone has shoved corrugated cardboard under there, presumably to protect their back from the bars and springs of the black bedframe. I adjust the location of the cardboard to where my lower back meets the bed.

I stand back and think, "Huh. This is more like a jail cell than a sleeping car," and wonder about the garish colors, which give one the impression of cheer but are so incongruous with the space. I have no access to other passengers, nor do I know if there even *are* any on this train, and I cannot open my own door.

The end.

Back in high school, not seeing my teacher's face, fire, a baby

I am putting on a high-school uniform in my home (one I do not recognize). It's getting late, I have to leave, and it's cold out; I wish for tights and magically they appear on my legs.

In the next instant, I am walking into my high school cafeteria (not any place I've seen before, but it resembles the student center at my university). Friends of mine, including my girlfriend Christina (whom I met at herb school just two years ago), are at a table, eating something before class begins. The energy is easy, we're all girls, laughing, gossiping.

The bell rings for class. I hang around until the last minute. I begin to run for homeroom/class. I have to cross the gymnasium to get to the main school building. As I jog through, I spy my present-day herb teacher, Michael, off to the side, with his back to me. He is walking slowly in the same direction but is beginning to turn to the left, behind some kind of temporary curtained structure, like one where you might hide the sound equipment for a show. I do not call out to him but pick up speed and run through the exit.

In the next scene, I am not in any kind of class -- or at least, it doesn't seem like a 'class,' but it is still in high school. Some kind of student gathering? We are in a small, crowded room -- maybe 15 of us or so. It has elements of ritual. We are seated on the floor, singing. Cushions under some of us. Muted light, candles maybe. Reclining, propped on my elbows, I crane my neck and discover that  behind my head is some kind of vase that holds many feathers and incense sticks. All the incense sticks are lit. The feathers are large, brown-and-white-striped. Some of them poke out through holes in the bottom of the vase and their quills are lit, giving off incense as well.

I have the feeling I am supposed to be minding this strange vase with its smoking contents. One of the incense sticks set some object nearby aflame already, and I had to put it out (I do not remember what the object was, only that it was draped with fabric or ribbon -- and I think I just used my hands to extinguish the flames).

I face forward and see Michael again -- he has just come into the room, into the center. He is wearing his mustard-colored shirt. Again, his back is to me -- he is turned at the waist while seated on a chair, reaching behind him for something -- I sense that it is a musical instrument. Others are playing musical instruments in the room now.

I turn back to my incense/feathers and prevent another small fire from breaking out. All of a sudden this time there is a baby sitting next to the vase, dressed in a pale green onesie. He is surrounded by a circle of tealights. I'm mildly surprised that he's there, but I am not alarmed, in fact to see him there is pleasant. He's chubby, less than a year old, giggling, and adorable. I stand up and pick him up to cuddle him. I don't know whose he is.