Last night I dreamed I was staying in a hotel for some sort of library event (I’m a librarian). For part of it, a colleague and I were raising money for the library. The last step in raising this money was we had to shave our heads. I was very nervous, but had always wanted to do it. So still uncertain, I allowed it, and so did my colleague. When we got back to our hotels we looked in the mirror and both of us just had shorter hair. They actually didn’t shave our heads. I was very disappointed, but my colleague, who now felt like a much more intimate friend wasn’t. I suggested that we head to the nearest Super Cuts and finish the job, but she didn’t want to. Suddenly, I heard someone entering the hotel room. I ran from my friend’s room to the door and screamed NO! GET OUT! But it was the housekeeper dropping off a scale for the room, I took it from her hands and told her to never disturb us again.
My friend emerged from her bedroom, and our relationship changed again. I realized that we had both been married to the same man, at the same time, but were now getting divorced. It was the first time that I ever realized that was an unusual situation. I asked her if she ever thought about going on dates with other people, and she nodded. She got out one of her CD organizer books and started going through them, telling me which band members were about our age and which ones might still be single. She started with the members of a band. I was familiar with the band, it started with a B and was one, short word. It might have been Blur or Braid. I told her that I, too, had done that when I was contemplating dating again.
Our ex-husband then called to invite us to happy hour with other colleagues.
Then I woke up.
One way of doing this, of dream weaving, of writing about your dream, is to tell you what I think your dream means then provide a bit of explanation for this meaning. Another would be to compare dreams to poems, to write about how analyzing dreams is like analyzing poems. It is true that poems are a certain kind of dream.
Dream bubbles rising out the brain snorkel. A fortune in a cookie in a dream in an infinite regression of these. Time’s a false bottom. The brain’s a mirrored shoe.
Yes, a hotel is place we pass through. So we can say it represents uncertainty, change. Head shaving to join a cult, an army, a terrorist organization, to raise money for a library of the occult sciences, is something that is done. Over and Over. So we can say you’re giving up an element of your identity in exchange for something new. Cold comfort for change. It’s scary. If it wasn’t, Super Cuts wouldn’t be involved. It involves trust. The trust is broken. Rebuilding rituals. Learning to be.
We can say that thoughts are jelly beans, dreams are the eating of these. Some are the quality ones, they taste just like the real moment, some are just bullshit, just different shades of licorice. We eat them all then talk about the meaning of the meal.
See what I’m doing here Sommer?
I want to pretend not to know something about you. Because I resist the impulse toward logic, even in your dreams. But we see it. But also so much more. Like how this moves us forward.
Sweethearts know that long ago is now.
Everything’s already happened. This is good news. This is THE good news. Like dance on your desk, sing to the sky, shave your head, spin in a circle, move to a religious community in a beautiful place out in the country GOOD. You’ll be taken care of.
It’s one thing to say all is full of love. It’s quite another to know this inside the source of your thought. It’s already there though. And in the hurt, the sun’s light and every horrible thing at once.
All we have to do is remember what it is. This is what we’re doing. Now. And in the Dream. In the Poem. It isn’t the trauma. IT is everything all at once, the singularity. We need a lot of magic tricks to pretend it hasn’t happened, but that’s what our bodies are for. We the dreamers, the poets, the trippers, the writers, the exploding heads are remembering IT.
On some cheesy pseudo-science TV show, someone described it as an ice sculpture melting in reverse. This isn’t a bad analogy. It begs the question though, what’s the shape of an infinite expanse of love? The answer is what we’re remembering.
This isn’t some Wayne Dyer bullshit. It’s the most realest thing in this world.
The end of time is the ultimate happy hour!
Time is a weapon of time that puts the hurt in us, even though it doesn’t exist. Spit it out. There is light waiting for us past the end of history. We’re already there. Still, we’re moving closer to the edge.