The sword and the doctor
Dec. 29th, 2021 08:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
boccaderlupoI dreamed I met some old friends at one of those down-at-the-heels Jersey City bars we used to frequent, long faded with smoke and cheap beer. I went with Brother S. and met his Tio O. there, along with Cousin A. from Philly. All were in a fine mood, after the holidays. I hadn't seen the latter two guys in years. They were drinking some clear liquor (rum?) and for every shot we would have to drink some foul half-pint of Schlitz. In the waking world I don't drink this much, but in the dream world I was completely soused. Indeed, my mouth had cottoned over entirely. We were all laughing at nonsense and evidently taking photos (in the dream, my wife showed me some blurred photos S. had texted her). I told her I couldn't remember much of anything at all, except that we had discovered in the bar an ancient sword: it looked like one a conquistador would use, except its handle was decorated with a magnificent eagle. The style of artwork was something out of Mesoamerica, Olmec maybe, with dark colors, with a single great yellow eye staring at you. The sword was heavy but apparently still sharp, and the fellows were goofing around with it, though you'd need two hands to control it. I suddenly realized we had left the sword in the bar, and that it could be something of great value, but none of the other guys remembered what became of it.
*
I dreamed I had to go to Brooklyn to visit a doctor. In the dream at least I had some kind of lower back pain, and this doctor had a kind of holistic way of dealing with it. The appointment was for Sunday at 1:15 p.m., and I had a whole plan in mind of how I would take public transport to get there. I ended up sleeping through the appointment, however, and though I tried to call the doctor's office, it was no use getting through. I ended up driving out to Brooklyn (it was surprisingly easy to park) and going in person to the office later that afternoon. The doctor's office was modern with wood-paneling, and smelled kind of musty, like a place for the aged. It was a single-floor maze of many rooms, but apparently he was not the only practitioner there. I ran across the doctor himself, a fellow named "Dr. Waerchtower" (like "watchtower" or "searchtower"), a wizened old man with a long white beard and a yarmulke. He spoke in a strong Israeli accent and seemed to accept my apologies, and directed me to the front desk, which was at the other end of the office. Here there was a window, at least; sunny but raining. A lady with a New York accent told me she'd be able to have me back the following Sunday, no problem.
When I turned around to leave, there was the doctor again. But his white beard now had streaks of black, and his face was younger, and he stood up straighter. Curious. He spoke a few words of halting Italian to me, and pronounced my name correctly the first time (most folks do not on this side of the ocean). He seemed pleasantly surprised when I responded in Italian, and we began to walk the corridors. He halted at sort of plaque that gave directions through the office building, and I noticed that along the top of the plaque was a row that had "The Four Names of God" written in a script I didn't understand. He began to duly recite these, as in some kind of ritual. Although I had more questions for him, I didn't want to interrupt, and left.
*
I dreamed I had to go to Brooklyn to visit a doctor. In the dream at least I had some kind of lower back pain, and this doctor had a kind of holistic way of dealing with it. The appointment was for Sunday at 1:15 p.m., and I had a whole plan in mind of how I would take public transport to get there. I ended up sleeping through the appointment, however, and though I tried to call the doctor's office, it was no use getting through. I ended up driving out to Brooklyn (it was surprisingly easy to park) and going in person to the office later that afternoon. The doctor's office was modern with wood-paneling, and smelled kind of musty, like a place for the aged. It was a single-floor maze of many rooms, but apparently he was not the only practitioner there. I ran across the doctor himself, a fellow named "Dr. Waerchtower" (like "watchtower" or "searchtower"), a wizened old man with a long white beard and a yarmulke. He spoke in a strong Israeli accent and seemed to accept my apologies, and directed me to the front desk, which was at the other end of the office. Here there was a window, at least; sunny but raining. A lady with a New York accent told me she'd be able to have me back the following Sunday, no problem.
When I turned around to leave, there was the doctor again. But his white beard now had streaks of black, and his face was younger, and he stood up straighter. Curious. He spoke a few words of halting Italian to me, and pronounced my name correctly the first time (most folks do not on this side of the ocean). He seemed pleasantly surprised when I responded in Italian, and we began to walk the corridors. He halted at sort of plaque that gave directions through the office building, and I noticed that along the top of the plaque was a row that had "The Four Names of God" written in a script I didn't understand. He began to duly recite these, as in some kind of ritual. Although I had more questions for him, I didn't want to interrupt, and left.
