Missing dream
Sometime in the last three years, I had one of those dream(?) meetings with dad. I am sure I posted about it, or wrote an e-mail about it, but a thorough search of my journal and my e-mail archives for the last five years has proved fruitless. So, while I remember the pertinent details, it's going to be out of sequence, since I don't remember when it was.
I was at the scene of "my" wrecking yard, but there was nothing there. The landscape was barren-almost malevolently so. Just miles and miles of brown upturned earth as far as could be seen in every direction. The weird fenced-off 10-foot-wide area leading off the property was there (I never found out what that was...guess it belonged to someone else, or maybe to the city). Here and there were a few papery strands of wind-whipped, winter-dead grass, or a half-weed. But mostly it was just moonscape. Empty. Desolate.
I walked around, sure of where I was, sure of what was wrong with the scene-nothing there-but unsure why. I looked in the direction the office and warehouse should've been, and might've seen a few pieces of rusty tin, or not. I don't recall. There should've been rows and rows of junked cars in various states of disassembly, but...nothing.
I stood there, the wind whistling around me, and said to myself "But...there are supposed to be cars here...". I took a few more steps in the brown, hardened-mud moonscape And then, suddenly catching a shred of inspiration, I said to myself "There are cars here." And there were. Rows and rows of them, all lined up. I was leaning on the hood of an early-'70s Ford. The cars didn't appear with any kind of fanfare, no sudden "bam!" or anything, they just...were.
Sudden understanding and exultation welled up in me and I jumped for joy, punching the air, and exclaimed out loud "I make reality! We make our own reality!" At that moment, my father materialised next to me, smiled, and said "Yes. Very good. Very very good!"
And that was the end of the sequence.
I was at the scene of "my" wrecking yard, but there was nothing there. The landscape was barren-almost malevolently so. Just miles and miles of brown upturned earth as far as could be seen in every direction. The weird fenced-off 10-foot-wide area leading off the property was there (I never found out what that was...guess it belonged to someone else, or maybe to the city). Here and there were a few papery strands of wind-whipped, winter-dead grass, or a half-weed. But mostly it was just moonscape. Empty. Desolate.
I walked around, sure of where I was, sure of what was wrong with the scene-nothing there-but unsure why. I looked in the direction the office and warehouse should've been, and might've seen a few pieces of rusty tin, or not. I don't recall. There should've been rows and rows of junked cars in various states of disassembly, but...nothing.
I stood there, the wind whistling around me, and said to myself "But...there are supposed to be cars here...". I took a few more steps in the brown, hardened-mud moonscape And then, suddenly catching a shred of inspiration, I said to myself "There are cars here." And there were. Rows and rows of them, all lined up. I was leaning on the hood of an early-'70s Ford. The cars didn't appear with any kind of fanfare, no sudden "bam!" or anything, they just...were.
Sudden understanding and exultation welled up in me and I jumped for joy, punching the air, and exclaimed out loud "I make reality! We make our own reality!" At that moment, my father materialised next to me, smiled, and said "Yes. Very good. Very very good!"
And that was the end of the sequence.