According to Major Briggs' definition, what I experienced last night wasn't a dream, but a vision.
On rails I descend into the shadowy evergreens, leaning forward in the roller coaster car, the wind whipping my hair back. In the distance, a dark mansion awaits, candlelight flickering through its many windows.
The rails take me deep inside the mansion, braking casually at what appears to be a way station. I climb out of the car and step onto Aztec-patterned green tile. To my right, exercise equipment under bright fluorescent lights; to my left, a narrow hallway laden with change room lockers.
I head down the hallway, only to nearly collide with David Lynch, his trademark hair standing straight up as if he's just had a scare.
"Earl," he says. "Can you tell me how to find the bathroom in this place?"
I point to the door to my left: MEN.
"Ah," he nods, pushing the door open, beckoning me to follow.
I examine myself in the mirror while David does his business at the urinal. When he comes to wash his hands, he asks me a question:
"So what do you do, Earl?"
"Uh, well...I'm just a copywriter, I guess. But...I can't even tell you how excited I am to be here. Even if it's just to move props around or whatever."
David shakes his head.
"You are so much more than what you think you are," he says. "We all are."
"Well, I guess I've done some speech writing, too..."
"That's not what I mean."
David leads me to an ornate dining room, a huge space crowded with crates and boxes of props; there are stuffed owls here, but they are not what they seem. We sit at a round oak table, and for some hours, we talk. We discuss the importance of dreams, the beauty of truth and love and how they are our best weapons against the darkness.
After the conversation, I take the roller coaster back to Sylvia. She listens, amused, as I regale her with the details of my visit. She tells me she's happy for me, but that it's time to wake up...and I do, at about 5:20 a.m., with a strangled sob of joy.
On rails I descend into the shadowy evergreens, leaning forward in the roller coaster car, the wind whipping my hair back. In the distance, a dark mansion awaits, candlelight flickering through its many windows.
The rails take me deep inside the mansion, braking casually at what appears to be a way station. I climb out of the car and step onto Aztec-patterned green tile. To my right, exercise equipment under bright fluorescent lights; to my left, a narrow hallway laden with change room lockers.
I head down the hallway, only to nearly collide with David Lynch, his trademark hair standing straight up as if he's just had a scare.
"Earl," he says. "Can you tell me how to find the bathroom in this place?"
I point to the door to my left: MEN.
"Ah," he nods, pushing the door open, beckoning me to follow.
I examine myself in the mirror while David does his business at the urinal. When he comes to wash his hands, he asks me a question:
"So what do you do, Earl?"
"Uh, well...I'm just a copywriter, I guess. But...I can't even tell you how excited I am to be here. Even if it's just to move props around or whatever."
David shakes his head.
"You are so much more than what you think you are," he says. "We all are."
"Well, I guess I've done some speech writing, too..."
"That's not what I mean."
David leads me to an ornate dining room, a huge space crowded with crates and boxes of props; there are stuffed owls here, but they are not what they seem. We sit at a round oak table, and for some hours, we talk. We discuss the importance of dreams, the beauty of truth and love and how they are our best weapons against the darkness.
After the conversation, I take the roller coaster back to Sylvia. She listens, amused, as I regale her with the details of my visit. She tells me she's happy for me, but that it's time to wake up...and I do, at about 5:20 a.m., with a strangled sob of joy.
He's right, of course.
ReplyDeleteSee?! I'm not _always_ sarcastic!
ReplyDeleteI'll admit to a measure of delighted surprise!
ReplyDelete