Love Comes to My Vision House

A restless night and a wild rainstorm produced an inspiring dream before dawn:

I wake up in my house. I get out of bed, and things are little different, so I am aware that I am dreaming. There is a lot of commotion outside about the storm. It is first light, and further out in the orchard, people are milling about in raincoats. The ground is saturated, and I see a large stream of runoff has eroded a channel just beyond my apple tree. A neighbor lady comes to the sliding glass door and tries to peer in. She waves her arms and calls. I ignore her, closing the curtain a bit later. I am in my vision house and do not want to be disturbed.

My true love visits me here. There is a sense of silent recognition. We sit for a long time in silence, simply being together. Then, there is a period when I am lost in my own vision, and I return to the room as if from a dream or intoxication to find us still sitting together. There is more commotion outside and then she is gone. She has left a bunch of colored drawings on the floor, and I gather them up excitedly. The place seems as real as waking, and I feel sure I can save them into the waking world as evidence of her visit.

Quite a few people are going by outside, and I join them. They are going to Spirit Rock. A man asks the way, and I show him, pointing out the direction where everyone is headed. He keeps on asking questions, and I tell him, “Just go.” This gets a laugh of approval from the company. We are all walking up a gently winding trail, east toward Spirit Rock.

We come to a place where everyone is removing shoes before continuing. It is a wooden deck outside a mall-like interior. I go in, then come back out. There is some mixup with shoes, and then I reenter the place. I am looking at some art when a rich executive approaches me, saying he will test me since I have been recommended. He seems doubtful, himself. I follow him, and he says, “You don’t do things Big Time, do you.” I say generally no. I feel like I lack experience but am full of talent and ability. I feel like I have been hiding away in a little world of my own.

I follow the executive into his office, and he hands me an ancient camera, telling me to go shoot some pictures. This is to be my test. I examine the camera. It has a 1950′s look, a rare antique. I ask him about the controls. I can’t find the shutter button, and he shows me where it is. The camera has some very unusual controls, with some sliding levers and a prismatic dome or roof on top. The executive waves for me to go.

I walk out into the hall, and there are only two choices: I can go back the way we came in, or out the other way. I choose the latter, since I saw nothing interesting on the way in. It seems preordained: Immediately as I exit the back door, there is a great wild white horse. I raise the camera, fumbling with the controls. The viewfinder shows prismatic effects from the roof of the camera which are adjustable by the sliding levers. These will be no ordinary photographs. I can see they will be beautiful, although somewhat unpredictable. Next, a tiger, followed by a flood of tigers crossing the prismatic space like a Franz Marc painting. Then hippopotami. I realize the executive said to take “a few” pictures, and I’ve already done plenty. I return to his office full of excitement, saying, “These are going to be great.” He takes the camera, saying he will be busy for a few minutes processing the film, and disappears.

There is an excited flurry of people, and a triumphant air, as if I’ve already made the grade. We are moving out the back door and into a grandstand. Several women are interested in me. The first is a strange creature: She is dark and pretty, like a gypsy, but as she passes by, I see she has another face on the back of her head which is very narrow and worried. I wonder abstractedly if I could make love to both of her. She disappears, and the group surges to the top of the grandstand, falling immediately into animated conversation. Another woman is beside me, intently interested. She is beautiful and younger, with copper colored straight hair and white skin. She begins kissing me and her lips are divinely sweet. This is perhaps the most thrilling kiss I have ever known. I begin enthusiastically caressing her in front of everyone. What a turn on!

A third woman to my right tries to get my attention. She is older and calmer, with a dignified and slightly sad air. I turn to acknowledge her, finding her actually pretty interesting, but no match for my hot little dalliance of the moment. I turn my attention back to my copper woman, but only her lower body is left in my embrace. Her trunk is a bit farther back, and her head is some distance further. I say, “Feeling a little detached?” Everyone laughs heartily. There is a sense that none of these later women are my original true love from the beginning of the dream. I ask myself how I know this, and what makes her different from them. I didn’t see her appearance as vividly or accurately as the later three women. The felt quality of her presence is strikingly different: She is not “Other.” We are one together.