Dreamin' in the Cyber-Age

Of late, there have been dreams. Some vivid, others bland. Bleak and barren landscapes may merge into vibrant colorful ones. Seldom does rain appear, but when it does, it is a cleansing rain. People show up from a distant past, doing unexpected things in settings that are either vaguely familiar or indefinably strange. The skies offer an ominous backdrop, as in a Dutch old master painting.

The scene is a foreign city with cobblestone streets. In a restaurant a waiter spills coffee on my lady companion. No matter, there is no damage and she is unfazed. In the distance, bombed-out buildings loom, skeletal silhouettes against a gray sky. Could this be Berlin 1945, Sarajevo 1992? In dreams geographical exactitude does not matter.

We dine in the dim glow of candles. A mariachi band plays nearby. But they play Mozart. And then we are in a boat and there is a high wind that impedes our progress, though the water is tranquil. A bird of dark plumage appears making loud noises, then flies away.

The boat floats into a tangle of papyrus reeds. There is an amorous interlude before we find ourselves on the edge of a high cliff. The mountain is unstable and there is a long flight of steps leading down to a green valley. We fly, actually fly, down the steps, our feet not touching them. Someone or something is pursuing us. A dark cloud hovers overhead.

Now a river must be crossed. We hold hands. She has changed into a dress and high heels. She greets a friend she has not seen in a long time. We part.

In my hand I have a mouse, which I click. Suddenly the scene changes to what it had been an instant before. Her friend is no longer there. We are still holding hands.

And so I awaken.

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