Of a Dream

Hurried off the bus I did, in such a rush to get to the next one that I forgot a bag on the first. Upon the realization that I had lost something I hurried back on, calling out to the driver. “Just gotta get my bag, sorry!”

 

Dreamwork is not static. It is a conversation and the dream itself is poetry. Part entertainment, part art, part message.

 

The door shut behind me as I got on. The driver put the bus into gear and started going. “No wait!” I called out. “I’m getting off! Was just getting my bag!”

 

The first step to learning how to ‘read’ dreams is not terribly different from learning to analyze a poem. Identifying the difference between symbolism and meaningless chatter. Seeing how those symbols work together to shape contents underneath the surface.

 

As I shouted the bus driver turned her face towards me. She wasn’t stopping the bus. “There is a lesson for you in this,” she said. I protested as any upset passenger would. Of course I did, I could not understand. Not while still being in the dream. Almost crying with anger I turned to another passenger and complained of what was happening, telling them how unreasonable the driver was and how badly I needed to get off. The one I was speaking to showed no signs of sympathy, her face blank as that of a doll.

The fellow passenger spoke, repeating words already spoken by another: “There is a lesson in this.”

 

 

 

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