So I had this dream last night, or rather this morning, which was probably the most vivid and magical and surely significant dream I think I’ve ever had. The dreamscape was already fertile and undulating and alive. There were elements of it that were familiar and new bits too; for the most part the default landscape of reveries is some kind of Provincetown through the looking glass. I seem to “live” there in my dreams in a dimension that has more similarities to, say, Provincetown in the nineteen-forties than the Provincetown of now. Everyone has there own house, there are fewer people, nobody is a tourist. The cast of characters stand out. In the Provincetown of my dreams everything is seen for what it is. There, Billy Hough breaks bottles and stabs and kills my friends. It’s a metaphor, but it’s real.
Okay but this dream so we had sort of moved away from the town landscape into more pastoral a setting. And suddenly, in a clearing I saw two large blue birds. Now when i say blue I mean like the perfect pale-medium blue. They were large (as magical birds are) and rather shiny. They looked only slightly dissimilar. I would say that in shape they were most like giant seagulls but they didn’t have giant beaks but more demure bills, at least the calm beautiful one did. The other blue bird had more markings on his head and he was pecking at the head of the other beautiful bird and I thought this was a violence at first and I was going to shoo the aggressive bird away. But then I realized it was a courtship ritual and they were just about to mate which they did although I really didn’t see them do it but you know how fast, and quick, birds are.
Then the birds and the dream began to morph. They and the world began to spin and suddenly out of the head of what I now realized was the female emerged a rainbow colored lotus. Yes you heard that right: a rainbow colored lotus. So at first I thought I was witnessing some kind of unicorn emerging. The beings themselves, you see, were growing such that they were no longer birds, as they spun around or the world did: They were now more like dolphins or large sleek dogs or miniature horses as the female’s rainbow lotus protrusion from her crown chakra continued on in it’s RoyGBiv JackInThePulpit sort of way. And then suddenly the were in human form.
The female, now obviously a queen, was the most beautiful woman, blond, hair parted in the middle and still sprouting that rainbow lotus, dressed in copious satin like a renaissance noble, all folds and facets. Around her neck, where one might imagine one of those elaborate tudor colors with its origami folds, instead was a swarling net of gold filament dotted with red jewels or fruits or some combination of the two; and the king, let’s call him, was equally though less captivatingly turned out, dark hair, mustache and pointy beard, swathed in the same style fashion, only sligtly less copious than his counterpart’s.
They were now in a clearing on the other side of some trees and in between me and them Stella was there; and as if trying to quickly tell her that there was a hummingbird right behind her so look quickly, she said “I need my glasses” which were off to the side and she grabbed them and put them on and the figures were still there and she could see them. Only t they had morphed even more and in a darker direction. They were not headressed in black and I thought in the dream that, now, these chief god/esses were showing us their Chtonian aspect. Stella had missed their more rainbow technicolor incarnation but she was their for their even more intense and powerful (and dare I say right for a Capricorn) incarnation.
Suddenly there was a third person to my right, a young, handsome presumably gay character reminisicent of the gay best friends we’ve had in our lives. And he asked the magical couple: “Are you European” to which the upper-case Lady responded: “Not quite.” I knew would this meant. I took it to mean that they were Merivingian. That is what they wanted me to know.
I woke up and told Stella my dream immediately. She asked if I started Swann’s Way, the Proust book that was sitting on my bedside. I said no, not yet, but I plan on reading this book that I have planned on reading all my life, this day, now, here on holiday on Islesboro in Maine. “Because you know,” she said, “in the very first chapter, which is really trippy and in which scenes morph one in to the other, the narrator speaks of the Merivingians.”
Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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