I
woke this morning, for some reason thinking of one of the earliest
dreams I can remember. From the age of my sister at the time, I think I
must have been between four and six years old. We were at my
grandmother's house for a holiday, and I was wakened by my mother for
breakfast. I walked into the kitchen - the family gathered around the
table - to announce to all assembled what a wonderful dream I had been
having.
"There were all these little blue girls", I said enthusiastically, "waiting in line to get in bed with me."
I recall this pronouncement causing the breakfast conversation among the adults to grow suddenly and strangely quiet. "They were so nice, and so pretty", I continued, undeterred, "and they all glowed blue."
In my dream, they were indeed translucent, and glowing with a pale blue light (my favorite color at the time) from deep within. They were all my age, and dressed alike. In fact they all looked exactly the same, a long line of identical blue girls receding into the sleepy darkness. But though physically alike, inwardly each was unique, with an individual beauty and soul and identity. All were sweet and gentle, and each eagerly and patiently waited her turn to get into bed with me. It seemed there was an allotted time for each, during which her eagerness would slowly change to deep contentment as we lay smiling face to face. We would then say affectionate good-byes, and she would surrender her place to the next, completely satisfied and grateful for her time with me. I remember a soft tender word of gentle intimacy with the last one, that the others could not hear.
No one at the table seemed to fully understand how great this dream obviously was. I remember my father concentrating intently on his bacon and eggs. My mother and grandmother carrying on in wide-eyed but stony silence as if they had suddenly lost the ability to hear.
Nevertheless, after eating I quickly rose to earnestly declare my intention to go back to bed, in the hope of continuing this obviously wonderful dream.
"There were all these little blue girls", I said enthusiastically, "waiting in line to get in bed with me."
I recall this pronouncement causing the breakfast conversation among the adults to grow suddenly and strangely quiet. "They were so nice, and so pretty", I continued, undeterred, "and they all glowed blue."
In my dream, they were indeed translucent, and glowing with a pale blue light (my favorite color at the time) from deep within. They were all my age, and dressed alike. In fact they all looked exactly the same, a long line of identical blue girls receding into the sleepy darkness. But though physically alike, inwardly each was unique, with an individual beauty and soul and identity. All were sweet and gentle, and each eagerly and patiently waited her turn to get into bed with me. It seemed there was an allotted time for each, during which her eagerness would slowly change to deep contentment as we lay smiling face to face. We would then say affectionate good-byes, and she would surrender her place to the next, completely satisfied and grateful for her time with me. I remember a soft tender word of gentle intimacy with the last one, that the others could not hear.
No one at the table seemed to fully understand how great this dream obviously was. I remember my father concentrating intently on his bacon and eggs. My mother and grandmother carrying on in wide-eyed but stony silence as if they had suddenly lost the ability to hear.
Nevertheless, after eating I quickly rose to earnestly declare my intention to go back to bed, in the hope of continuing this obviously wonderful dream.
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