Dreams
This was my dream. I was on a tropical island -- maybe it was Thailand, maybe it was Hawaii, maybe it was an amalgam of both. The Mae Shi and I were staying in thatched bunk houses. Dianne was staying with her family, not far away. Holly was with her too.
It was the eve before i was to undergo a medical procedure that would essentially kill me and then resurrect me. I'm unsure what the benefits of the procedure were, but there must have been some, because everyone was pretty happy for me. I assume I'd have a newer, stronger body or add years to my life or something. From my conversations with people, I got the sense that while the procedure was not common, it was not completely revolutionary. Yet i was the first of our group to have it done. But it was clear in the dream that I would be killed in the procedure, that was part of it -- actual, physical death, followed by rebirth. No one seemed to think this was that big of a deal. I retired to my bunk with the boys and went to sleep.
That night, I had strange dreams. (Yes, this is a dream within a dream). In this dream, this narrator with this deep, impressive voice (it was the voice of the narrator from Idiocracy slowly told the story of the rest of the world, starting with my planned death. I don't remember the story, it was a sweeping tale of decades and decades (or at least that's what it felt like). But one part of the story I remember was the death of Holly, my dog, in the sea, with craggy clifts behind her. This part of the story was told in a freehand, animated fashion, as if it were drawn and animated by jeana sohn. I can still see the animation in my head -- it's essentially an animated gif with about four cells. It's a head-on shot of a rocky coast, and the top of the canvas shows above water and the bottom canvas shows the underwater action. The waves crash against the rocks above water, and below water, Holly slowly floats to the bottom of the frame.
Absent from this dream is me -- I don't know what the story is, but it's clear I'm not there. I wake up, a little flustered, but the rest of the band seems completely unconcerned about my procedure. They nonchalantly wish me luck and say good bye to me, and I meet Dianne, Holly and her family for breakfast. The scene is a hillside above an amazing view of the beach (similar to the view of the beach from Santhiya). We are treated to an amazing dance by our servers. The floor underneath us is sandy, and with big smiles and big hand gestures they sweep the sand away with big clown shoes they wear, revealing bright colored tiles -- bright purples and oranges. We are served a breakfast (maybe it was fresh fruit) and I enjoy my time with Dianne. But I tell her, in a matter-of-fact and calm tone, about my dream, about Holly and the rocks and my absence from the dream future. I tell her I saw the future, and I'm not in it.
Then I realize that I don't have to have the procedure done. This is a hard realization, because, like canceling a plane ticket or dropping out of school, there will be serious inconveniences -- the kind I've spent my life avoiding. There will be money lost, perhaps, or doctors inconvenienced, but it was not a done thing -- there was time to back out. and this felt like the most freeing thing in the world. . .
Then I woke up.
It was the eve before i was to undergo a medical procedure that would essentially kill me and then resurrect me. I'm unsure what the benefits of the procedure were, but there must have been some, because everyone was pretty happy for me. I assume I'd have a newer, stronger body or add years to my life or something. From my conversations with people, I got the sense that while the procedure was not common, it was not completely revolutionary. Yet i was the first of our group to have it done. But it was clear in the dream that I would be killed in the procedure, that was part of it -- actual, physical death, followed by rebirth. No one seemed to think this was that big of a deal. I retired to my bunk with the boys and went to sleep.
That night, I had strange dreams. (Yes, this is a dream within a dream). In this dream, this narrator with this deep, impressive voice (it was the voice of the narrator from Idiocracy slowly told the story of the rest of the world, starting with my planned death. I don't remember the story, it was a sweeping tale of decades and decades (or at least that's what it felt like). But one part of the story I remember was the death of Holly, my dog, in the sea, with craggy clifts behind her. This part of the story was told in a freehand, animated fashion, as if it were drawn and animated by jeana sohn. I can still see the animation in my head -- it's essentially an animated gif with about four cells. It's a head-on shot of a rocky coast, and the top of the canvas shows above water and the bottom canvas shows the underwater action. The waves crash against the rocks above water, and below water, Holly slowly floats to the bottom of the frame.
Absent from this dream is me -- I don't know what the story is, but it's clear I'm not there. I wake up, a little flustered, but the rest of the band seems completely unconcerned about my procedure. They nonchalantly wish me luck and say good bye to me, and I meet Dianne, Holly and her family for breakfast. The scene is a hillside above an amazing view of the beach (similar to the view of the beach from Santhiya). We are treated to an amazing dance by our servers. The floor underneath us is sandy, and with big smiles and big hand gestures they sweep the sand away with big clown shoes they wear, revealing bright colored tiles -- bright purples and oranges. We are served a breakfast (maybe it was fresh fruit) and I enjoy my time with Dianne. But I tell her, in a matter-of-fact and calm tone, about my dream, about Holly and the rocks and my absence from the dream future. I tell her I saw the future, and I'm not in it.
Then I realize that I don't have to have the procedure done. This is a hard realization, because, like canceling a plane ticket or dropping out of school, there will be serious inconveniences -- the kind I've spent my life avoiding. There will be money lost, perhaps, or doctors inconvenienced, but it was not a done thing -- there was time to back out. and this felt like the most freeing thing in the world. . .
Then I woke up.