Dream I (One) – A Log

Tonight’s entry of logging new dreams as ones occur that I find interesting…

Standing at the intersection of Winchester St and Rt. 29, I’m at the corner near McClanahan’s camera which is an old stone building that used to be a roadhouse. The sky is gloomy; the sun setting in front of me creating the golden sheen of an aged patina on the clouds. I twist to a sound behind me, a man is beginning to yell…I turn and see his alarm; a massive tornado. It appears to be travelling down the Rt 17 corridor from the north, following the valley south and growing ever wider not only due to proximity but in destructive power. Rain is beginning to pelt us that turns to stones of ice, and we are all desperate. I hear the U2 song ‘Bullet the Blue Sky’ in the background (my dreams have a  soundtrack, great).

I turn to run to McClanahan’s; it’s stone, it’s old and it’s my last chance. The sun is gone, the world is black as midnight in a deserted moonless hay field and the suction of the tornado can be felt. I get to the rear of the building and remove my belt and wrap myself around the neon green natural gas line. Every McGyver moment in a dream is a memory of a prior event; this time ‘Twister’. As in the movie, I survive…

Yet, when the storm subsides and I am conscious of my surroundings once again I am miles away, on a different timeline yet still dealing with the effects of the tornado. My ‘Oz’ moment has transported me to the attic of a home I lived in from 1986-1995. Here, it is still raining. The roof is saturated and leaking , water pooling on the bare plywood decking that was the floor of the attic. Yet, the architecture has changed, doors are different and exit points are no longer leading to safety. The door that lead from the bare attic to my room on the second floor exists but the safety of my room does not; a fragile 20 ft A-frame ladder stands as an only way down into what has become a barn. I think to myself there is another way around, an access around the perimeter of my old room in the space between the knee wall and the roof that exited into my closet. (Yes, I realize this hints of ‘Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe’, but this was a true architectural feature of the house.)

Taking the access through the closet and into the safety of my old room, I walk down the stairs to the main level…which has changed. It has morphed into a grand staircase with columns, gilding and decorative iron work. Basic paints have been replaced with a blue/green that I remember seeing at the Hermitage Museum in Leningrad in 1987. A grand ball scene from ‘War and Peace’ is playing around me…I exit the front door…

I’m on a country road, and I have the sense that it is France, World War II. The Normandy hedgerows are high on either bank. The fields are rich and green, foliage glistening, the golden reflection of sunlight in the early morning. Then it catches my eye, an incredible sight. A beautiful stag and his doe, he standing guard, she laying in the soft green grass of the field I have broke into through the hedgerow. They aren’t startled but expect me; I notice the peculiarity. The doe is suckling a full grown, tusked German Boar as though it were her youngling…I am broken from the gaze of that to see the battle raging on the North hill of the field. The doe quiet, the stag resilient and unmoved…The boar content and continuing to suckle…and I awake.

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