A writer-dream in disguise.
In the dream, I was at a function…rather, the preparation for one. Something to do with the Art world. People were scurrying, getting food ready. Not sure why I was there, but I knew I was part of it somehow.
A chef was there. One of those so-familiar faces in a dream that you know but have never seen. A sweet cherubic face. Friendly toward me—sidelong smiles, even as he bustled to prepare the presentation of food on a long buffet table. Promise in that smile. Possibility.
Steve Marin was there, too. I seemed to have a relationship with him (the serious man, not the comedian), but couldn’t get him to acknowledge me as he supervised some aspect of the event.
A stranger approached me. Friendly. A figure of authority. He had something to give me; something to hold for safekeeping. A diamond. A large one—not hen’s egg big, but several carats. A loose stone, not mounted. It was meant to be part of a presentation later. He meant me to keep it safe until then.
I put it in my jeans pocket. Tucked it off to the right side where it wouldn’t be scratched by coins and car key (shows how much I know about diamonds—they don’t scratch, do they?) I kept touching my pocket to make sure it was there. I was proud of the responsibility to this small treasure; proud about the responsibility that had been entrusted to me.
I never got to finish the dream. But it stayed. Which gave me the opportunity to apply the principle of “you’re your dream and everything, everyone, in it.”
The people are a wish. For a fond regard that remains elusive to me in life. A reflection of my strangeness to myself…always at a distance, yet with the possibility of Possibility. The diamond-giver: me as well. Me acknowledging and trusting myself with the treasure of myself, of my writing. It may also be my new friend Claudia, who may bring me a way to share my last book with more readers than it has known thus far.
The diamond. That one’s easy. That’s the writing itself. A thing to be treasured. The treasure I own only through diligence and daily care. The treasure I safeguard and check on—constantly. The thing I cherish with love and pride.
The writer in the dream. It’s all about the writing, sleeping and waking.