Monday, 1 October 2012

Crack of Dawn

The new academic year starts today. I've been up since four o' clock, having slept but little. I know I slept a bit, because I dreamed I was in trouble with a bunch of Muslim men for having invited a woman into my house - here a rather charming Greek island-style dwelling on a hillside overlooking the sea. One of the men, a former student of mine, tells me that the morality police have been apprised of my action, and that they will take steps. I find I'm holding a small plastic packet the size of those that hold a 'Stop' condom. (Available at good Greek kiosks everywhere. Widely, although probably unjustly, held to be as fit for purpose as bubble-gum.) On the packet, it says: 'The Naked Truth'. Well, the morality police are going to love that, I think, and I dispose of the packet by pushing it down a chute in the wall like a 'memory hole' in 1984. And Christ, I'm thinking, the house is probably chock-full of incriminating books, atheist stuff, gay stuff, Buddhist stuff, all the sort of thing you cannot justify to grubby-minded literalists of the kind I now expect to have to deal with. Fearing arrest and possibly torture, I get into wall-climbing paranoia and... why, it was all a dream!     

Fed up of tossing and turning and meteor showers of old memories, I got up at four, made coffee and dutifully wrote up the dream in my dream-diary. Here is more fuel for what Anthony Stevens calls 'hermeneutic frustration', i.e., the 'what-the-fuck-was-all-that-about?' feeling you get when pondering the symbols thrown up behind your eyelids every night. Am I letting the coming month's teaching keep me awake, for God's sake? Well, yes. I get dreadful stage-fright before meeting new classes. There's something even more nagging in dreams this year, though. Botched performances, collapsing stage sets, awaiting execution by beheading or being pushed off a high building - it's as if I am constantly being told I'm a fake, or at least that there's something elusively inauthentic about the way I am living.

Dear, dear. Must get into the shower, got to get the bloody train at seven today. All this will seem rather odd and quaint when the sun comes up.


Candy said...

Oy - poor poor you. I am more affected by my dreams than by the real thing. It is so difficult to shake the feelings they conjure and many times I have been brought up short during the day as an arresting dream image re-appears. My most often visited dreamscapes are me struggling along teeny narrow ledges with massive gaps to be jumped across, stones or broken glass to be walked over - barefoot. I think this may indicate that I have either chosen or am forced to follow the rocky road rather than the primrose path of whatever it is - dalliance.

Vilges Suola said...

The narrow ledges are a common theme in my dreams as well. Usually I'm crawling along them near paralysed with vertigo.

I bin to Dalliance. It's a shit ole.


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