Lucid in the Sky

My dreams have changed.
I know this because I keep a sort of dream-journal.

What I try to do is scribble a few notes as soon as I wake up and then I review them after I have my morning shower- this helps with recalling the details, but it took me longer than I would have thought to notice the bigger picture- the change in framework, if you will.

It's all about the starting point. I used to begin my dreams at the bottom of cliffs; the interior of labyrinths; the doorways to tall and forboding buildings; inside strange familiar rooms with only one exit-into some form of darkness...always a daunting position to be in, one in which I felt like I was in a mad flight of escape- from what and to where was not usually clear- and when I awoke I was often more tired than when I went to sleep. All that climbing and running can wear a man out, even in dreams.

There are roughly a half-dozen fixed locales that I visit in my dreams, but instead of arriving lost and afraid and struggling to escape, I am now at the top of the Dream. There's no panic- I feel a great sense of calm when I see the people and things that I have come to expect.

And if things seem awry?

I can change that.

I'm on the roof of a tall apartment building. There's a low brick and mortar fence around the ledge and a small wooden hut smack-dab in the middle of the tarpapered roof, the sort of structure you might expect to find a pigeon roost in- or a stairwell. It has a flimsy plywood door and one of those infuriating combination locks found in Dream- no proper numbers on it, just shifting and unrecognizable characters that make it impossible to open.

I have spent endless hours fiddling with that lock.
Spin. Twist. Whir.
Yank.
Nothing.
PULL HARDER. TWIST MORE.
Nothing.

It seems as if years have passed and I still can't get that goddamned lock to open.

Well.

Like I said, I can change that.

I've spent too much time in the center, trying to solve the unsolvable. It's a waste of time and energy, which are precious commodities, even in Dream.
If I want change- and I do- then I must move away from the center and investigate the edges. What lies beyond?
Might as well take a look. My footsteps are steady and sober- no reason to fear a fall.

Wait. This is a tall building. I should be able to see other buildings from here, but I don't.
It should be loud but it's quiet.
I should be cautious when peering over the edge of the building, but I'm not.
There is no fear as I look over the side and see nothing but turquoise water, clear, deep and stretched to the horizon- which is exactly 100 miles away.

In Dream, reality extends 100 miles in every direction and then ends. I don't know exactly how I came to this knowledge, but it's true. Or it was.

For a while I watch the water and forget where I am. Right. Now I recall...
I came to this particular edge because I noticed a loose brick here during an earlier visit. It's still there, loose and wiggly as a baby tooth. I work it free and feel it's weight in my hand. Heft.
It feels right.
This brick will work.

I carry my new prize back to the little shed. I hold the brick up, it's quite ordinary-looking, but next to it , the lock on the shed's door looks profoundly delicate.

Didn't that lock used to have the word 'Master' printed on it?

I don't see that word on you now, motherfucker, I think as I smash the corner of the brick down upon the lock.

It shatters like fine crystal.

I walk back to the wall and carefully set the brick back into it's original position before returning to the shed. Behind the unfinished wooden door is a flight of solid-looking wooden stairs descending rather steeply. I could have a flashlight or torch if I wanted one, but I already know what's down there.

I've been through every room on every floor of this building, tracing and retracing my steps in a vain search for an exit and have never quite found it. That's because it's not in there. I don't live in that building and I have no business trespassing in it, even should I desire to.

On a whim, I pull the door loose from it's hinges and kick it down the stairs, where it clatters and disappears.
There.
That should make it easier for the next poor son-of-a-bitch who winds up here. I think this is my last visit, so I want to leave my mark, and I hated that locked door.
Enter if you dare, but I'm done with it.

I walk back to the ledge.

From here I can fly anywhere- 100 miles is a lot of world for one man- or I can dive and test the water. I wish that I could do both, but I only get one choice.
This is my last visit to the roof.

But I remember that I also have beaches- amazing beaches- and at those beaches I can swim as much I wish- I have gills, you know- so today I choose flight.

Up, up, and away and suddenly the roof is a tiny gray square in a field of endless azure.
Bah. Who needs rooftops?

I look around me and I see the world. It is curved, round.

It's much larger than one hundred miles.

It is forever.

I begin my flight.

Now What?

Yesterday I left work in a state of near-panic over a huge workload that had materialized from nowhere and had to be done by Friday morning, no ifs-ands-or-buts...when I got home I had a letter from a short-term employer waiting for me.

When I removed the letter, my mailbox fell off the wall of my building and clattered down the steps- the single short screw holding into the mortar had given way.

Fuck!

When I turned on the living room lamp, the bulb flashed once, brightly, and died.

Fuck!

So I went into the kitchen for another bulb and the kitchen light did the same thing. Poof!



Changing overhead lights in the dark sucks- I'm amazed I was able to do it without incident.

When I was finally able to produce enough light to read by, I opened my letter.
It was a check for $300 for a job I was already paid for in November- and I am almost exactly $300 short on this month's rent, so the timing on this could not be better...it's from a giant national company- I wonder if I was the only one who got a duplicate check?

Yay!

I can buy dinner! Except my car won't start when I leave the deli.
I just had it in the shop and was told it was OK, but now it won't start.

Fuck!

I eat a sandwich in my car and try again. It starts right up - and the gearshift backlight, which has never worked, is now glowing as it should.

Yay!

This morning I drove to work because I expected to be here until about 9 pm sorting out Lawyer Feces...but the 'emergency' isn't nearly as bad as was thought, so there's no panic.

Yay!

But I have to drive home in the snow and ice instead of taking the bus like I do every single day except the ONE day that we have icy roads.

Fuck!

Then our computer network crashed, so I couldn't do my work even if I wanted to.

Yay!

I can still go on-line , so I write a couple emails and decide to blog- but blogger is not working.

Fuck!

I read the news. It suffers from a paucity of cheer. Molly Ivins has died. I knew this already because I heard it on the radio on the way in- we were playing an Amy Goodman interview w/ Ms. Ivins and I heard a quote I loved and will paraphrase here:
(on the subject of the secret "Vast Right Wing Conspiracy")

"...of course there's no such thing as a secret VRWC-
they don't even pretend to hide their "Feed the Wealthy" agenda...all
you have to do is pay attention - they've been operating in the open for
decades and the American public just plain refuses to see
it...why bother hiding things from the blind?"

Hahaha- Vlad Putin says there is no 'conspiracy theory' at work in the death of a former KGB agent- the one who died of radiation poisoning- so how did that Polonium wind up in the spy's tea?

Fuck.

I don't need a headline or a hyperlink to know that BushCo is dead-set on going to war with Iran.
I've known that since 2002- Molly Ivins told me.

What she didn't say- because she couldn't have known at the time- is that we are in no position to engage Iran in a traditional military conflict. Our armed forces have been abused to the point of collapse- or coup.
In fact, we may not be able to defeat Iran in a 'traditional' war- and the current neo-Strangelovian buzz about 'tactical nuclear strikes' scares the hell out of me.

I'm not kidding.

Fuck.