Sorting Hat, Drunken Cat
Dreamed 2013/10/18 by Wayan
I'm on a highway dipping and dancing along a high ridge, like Skyline Boulevard. Groves and fields. To the east, meadows drop to seacliffs. I park, get out, and walk in one meadow to the famous Stone Saucer, a rock crag that looks like a crashed, fossilized flying saucer--a shack-sized disk with a dome--but only partial, as if it's eroded for centuries.
Saucer and hat/hut look sorta quaint and cute, faux ruins carved by local hippies mere decades ago to look centuries old, but there really IS a strange energy here. I think it's dangerous--it certainly pulled the kid inside, suppressing all critical judgment. Going feral just for fun? What about family? Do they even know?
Worse: is there risk of possession? Who or what IS this spirit?
Now we're indoors, and a toddler crawls on a sofa to the Hat Hut--now just a spiral, nautiloid leather hat a meter high and wide. This time I sense no danger though...
The kid crawls in. Yep, hidden totally. Could live in that hat.
I play peekaboo with the toddler.
Now the Sorting Hat is a bit smaller--50, 60 cm? About the size of the Hogwarts hat. Still snail-shaped, though. Rests on the floor like a bell-down tuba.
Our house cat, a big charcoal female, comes up to sniff it. Does she sense the baby inside? Two big holes--the bell at the cone's bottom and a side-hole; smaller ones near the top. I lift the cat so she can peer in an upper hole. She purrs. Likes the hat. Wriggles under the lip and peers out at me. Cat-peekaboo!
And then she starts talking. Quietly, with mispronunciations, but intelligibly.
It's not the hat she's most interested in, or witch-hats generally, but Halloween. And even more, Thanksgiving. Because... holidays bring such fascinating food! She has no concept of an annual cycle; to her Thanksgiving's just a magic feast that comes now and then.
I say "Both feasts are coming soon, just after the moon grows full." She's excited to hear it.
Now she becomes a purring teenage girl curled up in my arms. I'm very turned on, and she enjoys my touch and snuggles back into my erection... She dreamily keeps talking about Thanksgiving, as she did when a cat.
Uh-oh. Now she's not longing for the holiday food, but the holiday booze! Each year since she was a kitten, she's gone on a Thanksgiving bender. And the adults don't stop her, or even notice, because THEY get falling-down drunk. PUKING drunk. And then these wobbling pukers lug their worse-off, comatose, near-dead spouses to their cars, and... DRIVE THEM HOME. Often on the road.
She doesn't drink quite so much, so she assumes she's drinking responsibly! Not. Gone past experimentation or recreation; she craves it. Really alarming. Precocious sex with me (or other guys) has risks, but I can at least insist on safe sex and say no to sex at all if I have to, though I admit I don't want to, not at all...
But alcoholism? How can I convince her of the danger when EVERY adult around her is a flaming suicidal drunk?
Strangely, I'm less worried about her once I realize she's not weak or irresponsible; she hasn't fought booze and lost, or denied her addiction. She simply saw no problem! And that's understandable--since, in her circle, she is the healthiest and most responsible--by far, by far, by far.
NOTES IN THE MORNING
World Dream Bank homepage - Art gallery - New stuff - Introductory sampler, best dreams, best art - On dreamwork - Books
Indexes: Subject - Author - Date - Names - Places - Art media/styles
Titles: A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - IJ - KL - M - NO - PQ - R - Sa-Sh - Si-Sz - T - UV - WXYZ
Email: email@example.com - Catalog of art, books, CDs - Behind the Curtain: FAQs, bio, site map - Kindred sites