centre of the universe - the dreaming: Swimming and Flying, flying and swimming

10/13/2004: "Swimming and Flying, flying and swimming" I dreamt last night I was at the lake. I don't know which lake. It's a lake I don't recognise. The cabin we were at was similar to one I've dreamt of before in an 'our pink and round cabin at Candle Lake combined with Sarah's family's cabin at Emma Lake' sort of way. But the family I was there with was mutable; I'm not even sure who all they were. The water was warm and silky, and the sand was smooth under my feet. Just off the end of the docks, there was a drop of maybe two feet or so; a sharp drop so's one could dive off the end of the dock and swim out and out and across the lake.

The dock that belonged to the family I was with was odd; it appeared to be covered in crude oil, and the ladder that hung off of it was somehow hydraulically operated. I'm not sure why. It was the thing to do at the lake, I guess. They had a nice boat, not a great boat, but a nice one, but it wasn't well taken care of at all. Parts of it were also covered in crude oil.

The Captain and I went boating and canoeing and swimming, and then he was grown old enough to run off with his friends and do kid stuff that doesn't involve parents. I returned to the cabin to warm myself by the fire. But instead of going in where it was warm, I went out to the back which was very much like the back 40 of Sarah's family's cabin.

There I found Michael. He was reading a Foucault book. I'm sure I've spelled Foucault wrong. He had the pipe I gave him for Christmas one year, a Meerschaum dragon's claw pipe. He was smoking a honey blend, and the scent was sweet and lovely. Then we were holding hands, sitting together in a glider flying high enough above the ground that the province looked like a satellite image.

We rose choppily in updrafts, dropped down in cool winds, and flew silently over the still green fields and rivers. Then we arced back toward what I thought would be the cabin, but instead he landed the soundless airplane in what was my back yard. Apparently I lived in an A-frame with a balcony AND a loft, with huge oak trees lining both sides of the yard, a plush green lawn, and a water garden in the back. Come to think of it, I must have either been squatting or selling crack to have that house.

Michael and I rushed inside, bade a cursory hello to my mother, who was reading on the couch, and ran upstairs to talk about a wedding. Our wedding.

It was a sweet and melancholy dream. Sweet in its innocence and the melancholy of missing him; just missing being with him...I haven't seen Michael in over a year and I do miss him.

"mini-hiatus" "Friday AND Saturday"

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