Herself in Reverse!
Dreamed 2013/6/13 by Wayan
My friend Catshall the poet calls. "I'm sick. You better not visit tomorrow." I'm a bit relieved--I'm still recovering too.
Draw a lot of illustrations for the World Dream Bank, then build a new subject list for dreams of big waterbirds--cranes, herons, egrets, swans...
Read Donna Leon's Dressed For Death. Cops in Venice nearly ignore the death of a transvestite hooker--till he turns out to be a banker and whistleblower. The schemer who silenced him nearly escapes. But at last legwork pays off; a cobbler identifies him and the red shoes they dressed their victim in.
Start Lisa Mantchev's So Silver Bright. Bertie is a strange girl who live in a theater. How strange? Once, under stress, she turned into a bird--thanks (she guesses) to her absent dad, a were-gull who just couldn't take living in the human world. Can Bertie?
I've never managed it.
Just before bed, I watch a French detective show with cute women and uncute mobsters. Soapy, but it keeps me distracted so I don't overwork while convalescent.
Dream 1: THE MASKED BALLERINAS
I'm in a huge, glassy theater complex. Sliding glass doors into a lobby with ramps up to an inner level of dance studios above a big central theater. The nearest ramp's covered in ballet students practicing a modern dance--on the ramp. Teens and tweens, all girls, all in white or pastel leotards not classical black. Sexy bodies, sensitive intelligent auras, but something's odd; you wouldn't notice it in any individual, but en masse it's clear: all their heads and faces are large and their eyes are all wide-set and nearly as big as one of Disney's Fiona dolls. Which makes sense: they're all masks! Well not exactly masks--just a thin layer of movie latex makeup, false eyelashes and giant contact lenses. It's enough to hide their real faces and expressions behind big-eyed solemnity.
Why do it? Is it esthetic, part of this dance, or are they hiding their faces to ensure anonymity? But... dancers want credit. Dancers want fame!
Even masked, their auras shine like jewels in a dragon's hoard. Jewel-bright, disciplined, sensitive girls. Sexy! It seems ballet--maybe all the highbrow arts--attract my type.
And yet... I hover at the entrance, looking in, but I just don't try to slip up that ramp. I feel wary. For behind the masked dance is a big, wealthy cult, something like Werner Ehrhart's EST, with an agenda I'm not ready to face yet. Though I also know I'll have to come to terms with it eventually, since in most timebranches I'll meet my next girlfriend there, while writing the music for and/or helping choreograph a ballet.
Though I want to defer contact till I'm ready, a friend with questions about the program does drag me along for moral support into a small classroom with him, partway up one ramp. Asks a professorial guy, mid-level in their organization.
But the Professor just counterquestions my friend! I first I worry it's cultish evasion, but no; it's Socratic teaching! The questions prod my friend into realizing he already knows the answers.
Wait--do I already know the answer to the question of the masks?
A teenage girl I know, with dark bangs, pale skin and strong cheekbones, has a lot of magical promise--but students of wizardry need both natural ability and long study.
She meets a slightly more powerful sorceress who's coming backward in time to meet her. Not sitting in a time-capsule or walking through a time-gate: she's doing it by living backward, her time-arrow reversed from our viewpoint. She arrives--though from her perspective I guess she's leaving; her last moment back in our time. She says goodbye. Well, she says yahbdoog. Talks backward. Walks backward. Eats backward... all pretty unsettling.
But ignore time's arrow, and I'm struck how similar they are--same black bangs and cheekbones. Are they related?
The girl I know was afraid she'd have to fight the reversed sorceress; but as they touch for the first time... they simply fuse.
Oh. That sorceress was her future self in reverse.
Something similar but more complex happens with a spacy, unworldly, younger boy of talent. He encounters an older guy coming back through time. His future self too? But in this case, they both turn to animals--large rodents--big squirrels, I think.
Soon the kid gets sick, and spreads it to his human friends, including me. Feels like just a mild cold, but I'm uneasy. Is it more?
Yes. It's a virus with a hidden magical purpose: to inoculate by inserting a gene to resist a much more serious plague--the Black Death itself?--that the future one planned to spread! Modern medicine can quell such an epidemic once detected, but the kid prevents it from the start with his mild illness. Saves lives!
This felt, and still feels, like a major dream, predicting that as I heal from chronic illness--which may partly be chronological illness, a sort of shamanic illness born of future-shock--I'll grow from being a songwriter in a small experimental band to composing and choreographing in much larger and more mainstream venues. Well, mainstream for San Francisco. Maybe highbrow for most places. It wasn't arena rock and those ballerinas seemed, as a group, strongly gifted.
The issue of the gifted in masks, of needing masks, has haunted me since this dream: for example, Her Final Exam or Why I Lie.
Maybe I'll manage to sabotage this highbrow path years ahead. But the dream was so firm about it, I think it spotted a real trend down many time-branches. Treating this literally isn't naïve; note how Herself in Reverse and Squirrely Plague both directly show the future reaching back to impact the present! The dreams encourage interpretation as prophetic not metaphoric.
I've started a list of such self-flagging dreams declaring their own type--dreams that say in the dream that they're literal warnings not to be interpreted metaphorically; or dreams that mention lucid dreams, thus triggering lucidity; or dreams that talk of telepathy in the dream, prompting the dreamer to tell the dream and thus discover it was shared/telepathic.
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