Wednesday, 16 September 2020

Dream journal: Twenty-eight

This is the twenty-eighth in a series of posts chronicling dreams I have had. As usual, the date shown is the date the dream was captured. This is usually the morning after the night the dream took place. You can’t wait very long before capturing a dream because it soon disappears from memory.

7 May

Had a nap after lunch and dreamt I was in Watsons Bay aged about 25 and granny was still alive. Other elements of the dream were set in the real-life present (i.e. not 30 years ago), for example the tweets that I saw in the sand outside my parents’ house. These tweets showed a conversation held between a woman with whom (in real life) I used to work and stopped being connected with on Facebook because I unfriended her. 

The conversation she was having involved her husband – whom I had blocked on Twitter because of the way he would comment in response to tweets of mine – and some other people, people in the broader community, about buying a property. In the dream, one person offered to lend the woman the money needed for such a transaction. I knew this person from his online persona but didn’t know he had so much money to throw around that he could make such an offer.

I walked along the path from mum and dad’s house to the beach at Watsons Bay reading the tweets in the grass and in the sand – the tweets were embedded and visible in the landscape like actual physical features of the pavement and of the sandy grass verge that bordered it – while I made my way along the promenade to where the restaurant was. Police were near it doing random breath tests, and had set up a marquee on the pathway, in Robertson Park, that heads up the hill toward New South Head Road where, in real life, there’s a bus stop. At the beginning of the long marquee police were handing out flyers – presumably to warn people off drinking – and I took one saying, prophylactically, to the cop who handed it to me, as though to ward off the evil eye, “I haven’t had anything to drink.”

Further on, I walked up the hill toward the Gap and met granny in a church. I had stopped inside it to read tweets, a part of the previous Twitter conversation, now visible on a printed pamphlet that had been made by the church, and that was being given out for free to visitors. In real life, granny used to go to church in Watsons Bay every Sunday dressed in her best clothes, and now, in the dream, I sat in this building – which differed from the historical church in so many ways, and was far more modern – while reading, as she came in and started to talk with the preacher and his wife. Both of these people were Indians. Then I tapped granny on the arm, though, at first, when she turned her head to look at me, she didn’t recognise who I was. I took off my sunglasses so she could see my face clearly and she seemed surprised to see me there. 

After a while I left her. By this time we were up the hill toward the rocks of the Gap. In the dream I’d wanted to get to a place I thought dad used to go to – he was dead in the dream even though his mother was still alive. After granny and I were on a bus I said goodbye to her then went walking on the concrete path by the cliff’s edge. The path I took was sometimes made of rock, the rock of the cliff. 

I met people on the path who were walking the other way, some of whom were young and were singing hip-hop songs. I was rapping too and the path suddenly became steep, so steep in fact that I couldn’t go any further. There was no balustrade at this point, with a drop to my right of hundreds of feet leading to the rocks below and the ocean. I kept going and then, after I had overcome the obstacle in front of me, mingled with crowds of people and police who were standing around the forecourt of the lookout, with Robertson Park spread out below. Then I woke up.

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