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I dreamed we were on a raft in a strange ocean. It was black and seemed to have the quality of a tire. We sat in submerged seats, with just our heads above water. Someone was serving beer. There were four mugs in all, and someone said each represented one of the classical elements. Mine was "fire," but it seemed to be a golden brown ale of some kind.
It didn't taste like fire, but it wasn't that bad. We clinked glasses.
*
I dreamed we were in South America or perhaps Spain (two places I have never been in the waking world). There was some kind of monastery or shrine that looked like the Sagrada Família but on a much smaller scale, thick vines growing up the walls. You had to cross a bridge over a kind of moat to get inside, and the interior wasn't much bigger than an apartment, though covered with coursing scripts and images twining upwards to the ceiling.
There was an altar upon which sat a young lad of maybe 10-12, with jet black hair and a kind of sad countenance. He was sitting on the lap of a woman who seemed to be made of thatch or grain, and he himself was covered with an elaborate vestment of azure blue and brown to where you could only see his head and hands. People would come into the room, look him over, and then depart, saying nothing. He was like a living statue, but I wondered what he thought about being in there.
The family and I shuffled in and then out again, and there wasn't much more to see in the shrine, although somebody said a sort of ritual would begin a little later if we stuck around. We strolled back across the bridge, only to find that a giant mall had sprouted on the other side, a food court and a Hot Topic-kind-of store right opposite the shrine, with birds flying about the corridor. We maneuvered through the milling crowds and found our way out.
It didn't taste like fire, but it wasn't that bad. We clinked glasses.
*
I dreamed we were in South America or perhaps Spain (two places I have never been in the waking world). There was some kind of monastery or shrine that looked like the Sagrada Família but on a much smaller scale, thick vines growing up the walls. You had to cross a bridge over a kind of moat to get inside, and the interior wasn't much bigger than an apartment, though covered with coursing scripts and images twining upwards to the ceiling.
There was an altar upon which sat a young lad of maybe 10-12, with jet black hair and a kind of sad countenance. He was sitting on the lap of a woman who seemed to be made of thatch or grain, and he himself was covered with an elaborate vestment of azure blue and brown to where you could only see his head and hands. People would come into the room, look him over, and then depart, saying nothing. He was like a living statue, but I wondered what he thought about being in there.
The family and I shuffled in and then out again, and there wasn't much more to see in the shrine, although somebody said a sort of ritual would begin a little later if we stuck around. We strolled back across the bridge, only to find that a giant mall had sprouted on the other side, a food court and a Hot Topic-kind-of store right opposite the shrine, with birds flying about the corridor. We maneuvered through the milling crowds and found our way out.
