27 February 2010

About that dream last night...

Haven't written up a dream here before, but I storyboarded one out a long time ago detailing a strange escape from an unmentionable place in D.C.'s quarternary sector... Anyway, hopefully you're groggy and thinking about sleeping already - good.

I'm in Europe (France?) in the middle of a small city which happens to be near a military academy. A fountain gushes while people and birds mill about in a quaint plaza. I see lots of cadets walking out in various uniforms, it looks like class just got out. Through the procession and sea of uniforms, I see more and more in blue, digital cammies, with blue hair and berets. Weird. Then I see an older one walk by with some rank insignia on his hat, and I said to my friend in English, "Hey, I have some of those." Then, I'm in a room.

I look up at the rafters, I look down at the knotholes in the wooden floor. I'm the size of a mouse - I am a mouse, and I stand under a sign and ledge that says something about "standing here to grow." This place is a rickety but warm building that allows you to see for quite a long distance until finally the obscurity of the low-light lets me only see blackness where the far wall should be.

Then I am the size of and I am a very young boy and I go up from near the side of the room via a very narrow enclosed staircase that rises a few floors. Soft, warm tones, browns and oranges (70s?!) and I could keep turning corners and going up, but as I'm about to turn, I see a small door about the size of a kitchen pantry door and pull it open. I pull myself up and squeeze in and I find myself in a very large bedroom. The floor is made out of cushions or soft plates, or is just very soft. The same browns and oranges are here, and some soft lighting from a lamp in a corner. There are larger-sized illustrated children's books scattered around There's been a person with me, a guide or even a narrator, and there's a young boy about my age in the room - this is his room - but I don't interact with him.

The "narrator" and I near the wall where I look behind a painting, and behind this painting, I open a very small door within a door within a door, several descending in size and assuming funny shapes, like things I'd have cut out in construction paper. Some have combination tumbler locks drawn on in scribbly pencil as if by the child. As I open each successive door, I can feel my curiosity rise for what I'll find, but not a yearning or excitement, I'm just going through motions. After opening seven doors, I can't believe what I've found: a large and tacky postcard glued to the inside of the door with a pop-up paper burlesque girl. You pull the tab and the leg kicks up like some kind of show. My awake reaction is still, "What for?"

Something is very obviously missing, or is it? There's nothing in the safe, shouldn't there be something in the safe?

The narrator tells me something about how the level of "hiddenness" of this room is highly approved of by _____, presumably the child (whose name I don't remember). The child is oblivious to our visit, which means we're either welcome or he doesn't see us. At any rate, this room feels like sanctuary. Good to know I can find my way back to this place if I need.

I'd like to find an interpretation of this dream, or it stands out to me so much that I figured I should journal about it, having skipped out on my last dream.

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