Epic Dream Time
Twenty-nineteen got off to an epic start with a sweeping early morning dream that had a beginning, a middle, and an end and was kind of dramatic. The conceit poses the question, What would my life be like today, if Mom and Dad had not moved from Brooklyn? Turns out, not a lot would be different.
The dream opens in our last apartment, an old railroad flat in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, only it is present day. Mom and Dad are gone and the apartment is now in my brother and my names and we share it. A lot of the old furniture is still there, but with a generous number of updates: new upholstery, wall to wall carpet, a fresh coat of paint. It's not a bad location, and fifty years of low rent increases have made it a sweet deal.
Bro' and I are both bachelors and I seem to be out to him. He doesn't seem to mind or register any degree of surprise when I bring home a male guest. It's not clear where we met. Neither St. Michael's nor Co-counseling seem to be part of the picture. It is highly likely that we have met in a bar.
And yet, the fellow doesn't seem to be entirely out, to himself or to any one else. He's an African-American young adult; kind of on the quirky, creative spectrum. Could be an amalgam of different people - including a younger version of myself.
He wants to unburden himself of something. Maybe it is about his sexuality. It's night time. I lead him to my room. We both start to unbutton our shirts, although it isn't clear why. Are we going to bed? Is this a prelude to having sex? The tension is enough to cause the young man to have cold feet. Whatever it was that he had in mind originally has disappeared in the wake of a panic attack. He begins to get a little belligerent.
The raised voices coming from my room are enough to bring Big Bro' to the door and he helps me to gather the guy's clothes and usher him out of the apartment.
Meanwhile, more company is expected. We're slated to host a meeting of some sort, right in our parent's old living room (which frankly, would have been tailor-made for such an event.) An old Wesleyan classmate, Bud Spurgeon arrives and he asks, "How is your silence?"
Within the conceit of the dream, it is meant to be an artistic reference. Bud is asking me about a theme that I have been working on (although, whether it was a reference to my painting or to my writing, I'm not sure.) End of dream.
The dream opens in our last apartment, an old railroad flat in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, only it is present day. Mom and Dad are gone and the apartment is now in my brother and my names and we share it. A lot of the old furniture is still there, but with a generous number of updates: new upholstery, wall to wall carpet, a fresh coat of paint. It's not a bad location, and fifty years of low rent increases have made it a sweet deal.
Bro' and I are both bachelors and I seem to be out to him. He doesn't seem to mind or register any degree of surprise when I bring home a male guest. It's not clear where we met. Neither St. Michael's nor Co-counseling seem to be part of the picture. It is highly likely that we have met in a bar.
And yet, the fellow doesn't seem to be entirely out, to himself or to any one else. He's an African-American young adult; kind of on the quirky, creative spectrum. Could be an amalgam of different people - including a younger version of myself.
He wants to unburden himself of something. Maybe it is about his sexuality. It's night time. I lead him to my room. We both start to unbutton our shirts, although it isn't clear why. Are we going to bed? Is this a prelude to having sex? The tension is enough to cause the young man to have cold feet. Whatever it was that he had in mind originally has disappeared in the wake of a panic attack. He begins to get a little belligerent.
The raised voices coming from my room are enough to bring Big Bro' to the door and he helps me to gather the guy's clothes and usher him out of the apartment.
Meanwhile, more company is expected. We're slated to host a meeting of some sort, right in our parent's old living room (which frankly, would have been tailor-made for such an event.) An old Wesleyan classmate, Bud Spurgeon arrives and he asks, "How is your silence?"
Within the conceit of the dream, it is meant to be an artistic reference. Bud is asking me about a theme that I have been working on (although, whether it was a reference to my painting or to my writing, I'm not sure.) End of dream.