dream log: outdoor ed

It's been awhile...

Whenever a dream I have has moments inside a house there's always undertones of recurrence, an understanding between me and my dreamworld that this house is a composite of all the houses that have found place in my memory's universe -- houses I've lived in, I've been in, stayed in, seen and that have blended and blurred into various incarnations to form location in the dreams my memory chooses to orchestrate for the night. And so it always feels like I've already been there.

It's beautiful, the memory within our infinite mind, and so grandly revealing to us within this universe. Our memories are always present -- not always remembered, but never forgotten, drifting in the vast, shapeless, perpetuating space of our mind. In a way, these are ours only. Memories, we as individuals, uniquely experienced. Yet, they are also touched and influenced by all, shared in creation and cultivation. So abstract and indirect, they may seem chaotic and random. But, at night in our dreams, they leave, return, disappear, reemerge, and ultimately come together to author a pattern, a story and song of sometimes overwhelming feeling and truth. As in life.

I am with two friends, a couple, lounging on an expansive white couch. The ceilings are high. The rich, velvety carpet like Pacific sand between toes. In the background are wide stairs with oak railing and a landing. Politely, my friends sitting across me are romancing, enjoying each other. While I slouch into the cushion, sadly content about being the lovelorn 3rd wheel. Watching them, there's a rebellion in me, as if they questioned my ability to love, dared that this is my fate, to be without.

Then she walks in. In waking life, a college crush. Someone I still see, albeit on occasion -- strange and somewhat stinging how you can be in such close quarters with a person, but be so distant from their warmth. She approaches, as I look to my friends. This, my moment of redemption, to prove my heart's lonesome demons wrong. She sits, finding her place beside me on the couch, her soft limbs close enough for her knee to brush mine. And I feel open, comfortable. the charming man I naturally am finds expression. And it's easy love, as she gets up and invites me back to her room. I boldly smile goodbye to my friends, inside secretly relieved.

We are outside, it's the porch of a cabin. The scene reminds me of my faint memories of 6th grade outdoor ed in Arrowhead, bordello moonlight and the afterglow of snowfall. We stand still walking, and emotions run rapid -- some spoken, which I can't recall, most emoted. I hint I love her, guarded but still honest. And she returns the sentiment. The revelation I see in her eyes, that shared intimation, washes over me like soul power. This is it. This is REAL.

As we continue on through the scenes, the silhouette stars and trees become streetlights and concrete. A dilapidated boutique appears, and we go in. It looks even worse inside, splintered and vandalized. But, cool collectibles are shown off on the shelves. She sees a corridor leading to another room, and heads in, looking back and beckoning me to follow. As she disappears into the deep corridor, I'm still graced. I follow after her, but when reaching the corridor, she's gone. It's a darkly cavernous, suffocating passageway, and when I call for her only my echo responds. I'm worried. Did something happen to her? She wouldn't just leave me. So I wait, left there alone. She never returns. I mildly feel comforted that if something did happen to her she would return to me upon its resolution.

As the space of my dream elapses, she never does. Until I see her taking instruction in class, unscathed, fine. And she just glances at me.