Wednesday, April 7, 2010
My dreams understand me
My dreams understand me even if I don't always understand them.
In college, I read lots of books about dreams and dream interpretations. Of course, at the time, I was supposed to be reading History of Western Civilization and Practice and Theory of Economics. But I was doing lots of stuff I wasn't suppose to be doing.
Carl Jung's approach to dreams seemed to make the most sense to me, but I didn't always understand him either.
My dreams and I are on very friendly terms. Like my human friends, I am very familiar with them but don't understand them. I mostly try to just accept them as they are. We give each other gifts. I try to express my esteem for them by remembering them. They give me all sorts of gifts, some of which are packaged to nicely to open.
Last night my dream just showered me with a torrent of what I've been missing the last couple of weeks. No, not sex. Although there was, I admit, a little of that as well. For the last couple of weeks, I've been lost in spreadsheets, business plans, management problems so all last night I got to hang out with a great group of creative artists, actors and musicians.
I got to do hilarious improvisational comedy with Meryl Streep. I got to play dueling banjos with Steve Martin and he was very patient with me since I didn't play much better in my dreams than I do in real life. We were in this marvelous loft with a view of the New York skyline during an incredible sunset. Our host, who owned the loft, was a large, heavy, bearded gent -- sort of how I imagine Bagman -- and he built his own guitars and had a fantastic collection of Chinese ceramics and Renaissance tools.
There wasn't a single damned politician in the place.
And Meryl Streep was younger and smelled better than I expected. It was very refreshing.
I wonder if my banjo is still in the back of the closet.