I've got to keep on moving...

[plural]

I had a particularly vivid dream last night

it is of a place I've dreamt of often
not a place I've ever been too
not a place I've ever read about
not a place that even exists

but from time to time
my mind takes me there
in my dreams

it is strange
particularly because
it isn't really a single place
it is a series of places
a path that I'm following
none of which exist
and
nothing really remarkable
happens along the way
and usually the dream ends
shortly after I reach the destination

I've traveled there in my dreams
dozens of times
maybe once or twice a year
since I was
I don't know ten or eleven
perhaps younger
I'm not really sure

but

it always starts in the south
some nameless small town
in the Louisiana swamp

sometimes
I will be dreaming somewhere else
and my dream will include a reason
a calling to go south
to go to somewhere nearby
never to that particular town
even though I do not know the name of it
but
in my travels I always end up there
whatever reason or plan
distracted and waylaid
by whatever has drawn me there

the first area is a place of bridges
highway bridges
modern bridges
all curving around up and above me
the bridges slowly change as I continue to walk
becoming older
concrete highway bridges
become green steel and wrought iron bridges

this particular dream happens
or should I say starts
the point of demarcation I suppose
when I see a bridge
pale green metal
with intricate scroll-work and ornamentation

the delicate design draws my eye
a willow tree drapes its leaves over the end
a bench sits overlooking the swamp
it is then I realize that it isn't a bridge
but a pier of sorts
as the bridge doesn't connect to anything
it just ends
right in the middle of the swamp

though moments ago
I walked under dozens of bridges
they are all gone now
it is the trans-formative moment
and I realize I'm alone in the swamp
just me
looking up at this beautiful and ornate
bridge to nowhere

I'm somewhat startled but not afraid
and I imagine that it would be nice
to sit up there
on that bench
and watch the world go by

so I start to examine the bridge more closely
looking for a way up
it is then I notice
that off in the distance
the other end of the bridge
also doesn't go anywhere
it just ends

just a span of bridge
seemingly built from one empty point in the sky
to another

I can't see any way to go up
so I shrug and move on

the next area
I have started calling Atlantis
it starts shortly down the path
at first it is barely visible
grown over
peeking out from a consuming swamp

doric columns
roman arches
statues of gods and goddess

as I continue traveling deeper into the swamp
the ruins become less consumed, more bright
the columns stand freely and shine brightly
instead of lying broken on the ground
mostly covered in moss

it is odd however
because the arrangement
isn't like a city
isn't like there were ever buildings
it feels like a graveyard
it feels like an afterlife
where beautiful sculpted objects
go when they die

but the place is empty
there is nothing there
but the path yet winding forward

I pause for a moment
looking at the pieces of temples
the history misplaced here
fascinated

then
have little choice
but to mosey on

the next area
I call the land of glass
and it is here
that if you're not careful
the path will disappear

the ground changes
from green swamp
water and mud

to white
smooth flawless white
like a glen covered in snow
but the ground is solid
glazed over with a glassy feel
not slick but smoothly textured

off in the distance
but not so far away
you can see the swamp surrounding it
it is a small area
but
filled with shapes
hanging ornaments

toys
birds and other small animals
pyramids and stars
symbols

all seeming made from ice
either clear or white
or some gradual transition between the two

but while cool to the touch
they are not cold
they are not ice

my mind says glass
but the texture is wrong

I continue walking
slowing examining
enjoying
the different objects
near the path

and then
I do not so much as leave
this area
as it fades away
and I'm on a country lane
although
the path is wider now
straighter even
but calling it a road
would be overly generous

along the sides
overgrown in the grass
are rusted pieces of machinery
ancient tractors
bicycles
and many that I can't identify

I'm so fascinated
by this obviously human detritus
that I don't see them at first
or perhaps they were hiding
to see if I was a threat
I'm not entirely sure
but this is the land of the freaks

misshapen people
gruesome in their deformity
but again not threatening in the least
their demeanor is timid
fearful
but seemingly kindly

I recognize quickly
that they have more to fear from me
than I do from them

at first
I see only glimpses of them
hidden in the shadows at the edge of the trees
then they seem to be inspecting me
as I continue down the lane
and
finally having determined I'm no threat
they seemingly go about their business
shuffling in and out of the shadows
doing whatever needs to be done
in their minds

at the end of the lane
there are massive wrought iron gates
ornate and rusting
hanging slightly open
one side obviously fallen to disrepair

between the rust and the overgrowth
it seems clear that moving the gates
would require herculean effort
but fortunately
the space between them
is enough for me to slip through

on the other side is a graveyard
massive willow trees loom
at evenly spaced intervals
shading mausoleums and markers alike

some of the doors hang open
my curiosity urges me to explore
the dark spaces beyond
to go down into the tombs
somehow I know
instinctively
that a vast catacombs runs under the grounds
and
I want very much to explore it

but that is not why I am here
that is not what beckoned me to this place
no, I am pulled elsewhere
and I know exactly where I must go

I turn to my left
at first following the wrought iron fence
weaving my way through massive yet almost overgrown
tombstones
the moss and vines
almost entirely obscuring
the names and dates carved on them

I can tell they are old
ancient even
without even reading the dates
and
I can feel my destination
spurring me on
I'm getting close now

hurry boy hurry
hurry boy hurry

you're almost there now

I pass under a large willow tree
part the draping branches
and the world opens up again
there is a small clearing
bordered by what is almost a lake
if you can call it that in a swamp
an area of water
somehow clear of the normal growth
the trees and debris
not far off
you can see the swamp encroaching
but for now this pond, lake or whatever you wish to call it
has withstood its advances

on the shore
there is a building
fairly non-descript
but of an old design
wooden and two stories high
the paint has peeled almost entirely away

it was a beautiful and spectacular sight once
and someone put great care into building it
making it appear festive and inviting
definitely not a place for dull activities
but that was long ago
and for all purposes it seems long abandoned

as I walk toward it
the state of disrepair seems almost intentional
almost manicured
something is peculiar
then I notice it
it isn't overgrown
not in the least

while the influence of man may have faded
nature has not returned
the lawn
once lush and green
is now brown
but remains perfectly manicured

no vines or moss
grow on the building

it is a place
weathered by time but
untouched by nature

even dust seems to have forgiven it
the usual accumulation
the front windows are painted over
but no dust is upon them
no spider have built webs
across the beams

a slight humming is evident
as I step on to the front porch
and
as I reach for the door
the slightest hint of music

this changes rapidly
the moment I start to open the door
the music becomes clear
the paint spreads out from the opening
refreshing the exterior
vibrant colors
delicate murals
a wave of color that washes time itself
from the facade

the music is festive
the style cajun from years past
it reminds me of new orleans
I walk through the open door
and I am in a luxurious foyer
red silk on the walls
gas lamps flickering
as if playing a game of shadows
with the flowers and paintings in the room

it is dark now
the sun setting the moment my foot
crossed the threshold
as I close the door behind me
echos of laughter and mirth
filter in from the rooms abroad
the door latches
a bell rings
and a pleasant woman
perhaps in her forties
comes bustling out to welcome me

"There you are, we've been expecting you for ages"

she leads me into a side room
a large desk dominates the room
a cross-board of small cubbyholes built into the wall behind it
I can see keys in the cubbyholes
a hotel then
very well

I sign my name
she hands me a key
our fingers brush
or rather
they should have
but where contact should have been
there simply wasn't

I take the key
she says

"Up the stairs and to the right, I've laid out clothes for you once you've bathed"

the room and the directions to it
are the only thing that ever changes in the dream
well only significant thing
the only obvious change

and
in the dream I know it has changed
I remember being assigned a different room

as I walk up the stairs
I remember doing it before

as I open the door to my room
I glance down the hall
and remember opening a different door

I've been here before
I've been here many times

and it is then
that memory rushes forward
but incompletely
and only in reverse

floods of memories wash over me
each time I have traveled that path
each time exactly the same
until this point
until I opened the door
and from there

nothing

I can remember arriving here
dozens of times

I can remember standing in front of
and many different doors in this hallway

but nothing beyond that

nothing after that
turning the key in the lock
is where my memory ends
abruptly

for the first time in the dream
I am afraid

if I've been here before
if I can so vividly remember
coming here
walking that wondrous path

what happens
on the other side of the door

that my mind must erase
that my mind refuses to let me remember

with some trepidation
I open the door
and step through

the scene before me
is as unexpected and surprising
not to mention somewhat bewildering
as I could expect

well, I suppose that isn't true

in fact, after all the build up in my mind
crossing that threshold
was startling and disturbing
only in that it was so

completely and impeccably
unremarkable

it is a room
complete with bed, dresser, storage chest
two doors which I assume lead to a closet and a bath
a nightstand with a candle lantern

the decor is rich, lavish even
the style is reminiscent of a saloon
but is almost opulent enough
to make me suspect brothel

on the top of the chest
sits a neatly folded set of clothes
a pair of shoes
brightly polished and of an old design
sparkle next to them.

I glance around
taking the room in
it is different than the other rooms
I've stayed in
this I can tell
but I still can't recall what they were like

everything is as it should be
or at least that is the feeling which pervades me
but I am troubled

why could I not remember
why can I still not remember those other rooms
save to know this one is different

what was I blocking out
one simply doesn't have that vivid a memory
to have it snap shut without a reason

no, vivid memories fade away gracefully
details slowly dripping off them
until the scene is too vague to imagine

I notice something, well no, I saw it before
I was just too wrapped up in the anti-climax of the expected
my mind had whipped itself up
readied its defenses
for whatever was inside this room
only to find nothing

so when I first scanned the room
I saw it
but it seemed so normal as to defy notice
my mind was still searching for the bizarre
for the amazing
for the threatening

above the dresser was a mirror
set in a frame with two tiny drawers for jewelry and the like
the usual sort of thing I suppose
wedged between the glass of the mirror and the frame
was a small piece of paper
folded in half
and with my name written familiarly on the outside

I walk over to it
slip it from its nested place
and open it

written in my own hand
are the words

"Don't Panic"

The storyteller in me
sitting here writing this now
realizes and wants very much
to end the dream here
it has punch
a snappy ending

sure, the phrase is Douglas Adams
but it makes sense to appear here
as I've been a fan since I was a small boy
and in my mind
I've definitely associated it
with trans-formative processes

the world is about to change
don't panic, you'll be fine
it also has the opposite effect
when I say it to myself
than one would expect
if you said it to someone else

reminding myself not to panic
calms me down
reestablishes my conscious mind's control
lets me accept what is to come
with my usual grace and aplomb
and make swift rational decisions

this however is not the reaction
this note inspires

usually when I'm telling myself not to panic
it is because everyone else is panicking
and quite frankly, it is the normal reaction

something has gone badly wrong
the shit has hit the fan
and I'm reminding myself
that only a clear head and good decisions
will get me out unscathed

this note
in this place
at this time
is
definitely not one of those situations

my mind races
why would I be panicking?
why would I tell myself not to panic

my mind wanders to the closet
that old childhood fear re-surging

the monster in the closet

I remember now in past visits
checking the closet
and finding it unremarkably empty
and my adult persona scoffs at the suggestion
but
somewhere
deep in my animal mind
unease lurks
uncertainty whispers

bah, I say out loud
dismissing the idea
I'm far too old to be timidly
checking closets and peeking under the bed
for monsters

there is light under the other door
so I assume it is the bathroom
I discard the train of thought
as an overactive imagination
toss the note onto the dresser
and head into the other room

surprise surprise
it is indeed the bathroom
a hot bath is drawn
steaming and inviting

a plush towel
lying folded nearby
removes any lingering uncertainty

so I do what anyone would do
in such a situation

I got undressed and step in the bath

the scene is brief
mostly just the feeling of warmth
soaking in the bath

then I'm drying off
and getting dressed

the clothes provided
are simply but elegant
and quite comfortable

I check myself in the mirror
determine I'm suitably coiffed

and head downstairs

I enter the lounge
a western style saloon
with a distinct cajun flavor

the room is large
obviously consisting of most of the ground floor
I walk up to the bar
and order a drink

the bartender slides me
a glass of bourbon
the glass is thick bottomed
short and wide
a couple of ice cubes clink
as I pick it up

I turn
rest my back against the bar
taking in the scene before me

there is maybe twenty people in the room
like myself
dressed in period clothing

the women outnumber the men
the only male customers
are a small group of men
playing poker at a table
off to one side of the room

the word

brothel

rises again to the forefront of my mind
as if my mind is confirming my earlier suspicions

but it just doesn't click
doesn't resonate

If it looks like a duck
If it quacks like a duck
It is probably a duck

but
somehow I know
that isn't a sufficient label

up until this point
save the room assignment
the dream never varies

here
it always varies

honestly
it rather feels like the dream
ends here

not that I wake up or dream a different dream
just that like my usual dreams
I finally take a more active role

where up to this point
I seemed almost a passenger
now I'm in the drivers seat

the next thing that happens
is always the same
but the who
changes every time

one of the lasses
comes up to me
and invites me to dance

her smile is warm
her manner inviting
but her hand is cold
unsubstantial
as if she is barely there

sometimes I accept her offer
and we end up dancing the night away

sometimes I decline
choosing instead to play some cards
although she'll usually end up
sitting on my lap
or somewhere as similarly intimate and nearby
chatting while I play

sometimes I postpone
and we head out to the dock
trolling our toes in the water

the what of my decision
seems to matter little
whatever scene plays out
is fairly short
fairly uneventful

save for one realization
she and everyone else here
are shadows
illusions
ghosts

I can touch them
and they can touch me
but it seems only if they concentrate

there has only been one instance
of this dream
where this wasn't the case
and even then
it was only one person
who was corpeal, like myself

she came at the end
where the scene would normally fade out
shifting into dreamless sleep
and
she took my hand
it wasn't until that moment
I realize how cold I had been
how cold it was here

the warmth radiated from her

I started to speak
but she put her finger to my lips
and lead me upstairs

we entered my room
she playfully pushed me on to the bed
leaned forward and kissed me

the world spun
my heart pounded
my soul swooned
and
then
my consciousness swirled
like water down the drain
and into the depth of sleep

I fell.