Saskatchewan At Dawn
Can dreams interfere with our life? When the consciousness that we are dreaming intrudes in our oneiric life we seem to be able to control our dreams, but can we do the opposite? Art seems to provide a postive answer to this question. Art is the utmost expression of the power of control and the disruptive force of instinct at the same time.
This much was clear even to a man of science like me, an astronomy professor trained to approach things rationally. I kept repeating to myself my meeting with Gwendolyn in the dream could not be correlated to the phone call I had just received. My thoughts were racing and I decided to take a quick shower. I had no time to shave. In big contrast to my restless state of mind, Saskatchewan was waking up slowly, flooded by a ghostly light. It would be another cloudy and rainy day. I put my luggage in the truck of the car and took a minute to take a good, last look at the Canadian skyline. In the late afternoon I would fly back home.
Devi greeted me coldly as she got into the car. She had arranged to meet Gwendolyn, Jett and their mother Linda at the diner before the kids had to go to school. Even though I was driving I could tell she was looking at me suspiciously. Things between me and her had radically changed over the last few hours. Since we had been at Kinvarra’s exhibit, she had taken all the decisions and I had followed her like I had been her sidekick. She had shared her knowledge of indigo children with me when she had felt like it. I knew there were things she hadn’t told me. And now it was the other way round. She wanted to know why Gwendolyn had decided to see me out of the blue, she wanted to know what had happened, but she didn’t dare to ask.
Of course, if she had asked I wouldn’t have told her. I had learned not to trust the woman completely. She certainly had an aim in mind regarding indigo children and she wouldn’t share it with me, so I really didn’t know what to think of her. One thing was for sure, she could be very manipulative. Besides, what could I have told her? That I had met Gwendolyn in my dreams and she had met me in hers? Was that the reason why we were driving to the diner? I simply could not believe it.
Anyway, I was a few minutes away from the truth.
I’d love to thank everybody who’s been reading my story so far: I wasn’t expecting to have such nice comments and someone even devoted a post to my blog. I hope you’ll keep reading it and tell me what you think about it (please feel free to tell me if you think I should have acted differently).
A Vivid Dream
I was jogging in a desert neighbourhood. It was night and I didn’t know where I was nor where I was going, but, strangely enough, that didn’t seem to bother me that much. I would go as long as my feet kept going. The harsh sound my trainers produced on the iced pavement made me feel less alone. It was like I know there was someone there, in tat part of the world, a kindred soul.
As soon as this thought hit me, I realized where I was. The diner was still quite far from me but I could see it. I couldn’t tell whether the lights were on or off, though, so I sped up. As I got close enough, I noticed that someone had dimmed the lights and was moving inside the diner: I could see a shadow stretching on the pavement outside the window. I went inside.
Gwendolyn put a cup of hot tea on one of the tables and sit down with a magazine in her hand. She barely took notice of my presence and greeted me with affected coldness. It was obvious it was her and her arrogant behaviour proved the girl sitting in front of me was the same I had met the previous afternoon, yet she looked different. Her hair was much fairer than I could remember, almost albino. Every single hair of her body, her eyebrows and her eyelashes were almost white. And she was not trying to hide her beauty anymore, she didn’t seem to care about concealing her femininity, still in its unripe state, any longer. She was wearing a long black skirt and a purple red blouse. Le rouge et le noir, I couldn’t help thinking. Death and Passion, Order and Chaos.
I couldn’t explain how the idea came to me, or what gave me the certainty that it was correct, but all of a sudden I felt I was there to see right through Gwendolyn’s soul: an angel-haired child whose feelings could be dangerously deep. Absorbed as I was in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed Gwendolyn staring at me until she exclaimed You, as if she meant to say You, of all people! I instinctively looked down at my clothes and realized I was wearing an indigo shirt. Very strange. I never owned an indigo shirt, I’ve always thought grey, brown and black would be more appropriate in the academic world. And, if black and red represented Gwendolyn’s soul, what would indigo say about me? I couldn’t think of a possible answer, because the girl added I’ve never thought you could be… She sounded genuinely shocked and as I raised my eyes I saw her pointing at something above my left eye.
The phone rang and woke me up. According to the alarm clock it was six am. I lazily picked the phone up. It was Devi, she said Gwendolyn had contacted her to ask if she could meet us at the diner before she went to school. She had expressly asked to talk to me.
The Dream
It happened again: last night I had that dream again. Maybe it is because the last thing I did last night was walk up to this library, start my blog and walk home thinking about the inexplicable things that have been happening to me.
Over the last few years I’ve had a terrifying recurrent dream. You couldn’t call it a nightmare because there are no violence, pain or fearful elements in it. The most fearful thing is its recurrence over the years and the effects it has had on my everyday life. The dream is very simple: my life is completely back to normal, I’m still an internationally renown professor and, as I’m in the middle of a conversation with somebody, be it a colleague or a student, the person I’m talking to suddenly stares at something above my left eye. I try to carry on the conversation as nothing had happened, but I know what’s making my interlocutor look so nervous: my eyebrow has abruptly turned indigo. The reason I know about this sudden change in my appearance is due to the fact that I’ve had this dream so many times I perfectly know what has happened and how it is going to continue.
Nevertheless, last time just like any other time, I found an excuse in my dream and left the person I was talking to in order to go and check my reflection on the first available surface. As expected, last night as a million nights before, the image that was reflected on the glass door of my office showed a pleasant, middle-aged man whose left eyebrow was indigo.
The first times I’ve had this dream I found it slightly disturbing, but it has become quite obsessing over the years. I carried out an extensive research on the symbolic meaning eyebrows have in dreams. All books seem to agree on the fact that eyebrows denote that the person who dreams about them will encounter sinister obstacles in their immediate future.
Someone has booked this computer so I have to go, next time I’ll tell you more about my story. Today I’m still shaken because of the dream so I told you about it; it’s part of my story anyway.
Talk to ya’ later
