The Magi and the Visitor

I had this truly amazing dream last night. Now it’s amazing I remembered the dream at all. I’ve worked like 7:30am to midnight or a few hours later this entire week. I haven’t meditated in a long time, gah. Tomorrow I am just sleeping!  But I woke up not long after it so maybe that is why. Then it’s taken me like 16 hours to write it down.

I was ‘sitting in’ I think on the Queen. But it had a completely different quality than any dream I ever had.

It felt real.  I mean most people would think sure, all dreams feel real. No. Not until this one did I realize how far from true that is. I’ve heard people refer to a perceptual experience of “realer-than-real” but I think I just ran into one.

I/she (I will say she for convenience now) wanted to travel, like magically, into another… place or dimension. She was wearing this kind of fascinating dress, like all one piece of cloth, it had a hood up, thin white fabric very lightwhite, and a really low cut in the middle, long dress, it had a rather odd combination effect of youth, beauty, sexy yet virginal.

She thought she could actually pull it off, going to this place. Wouldn’t that be cool?

And she focused for awhile and worked on it and then made the nearly herculean effort and — there was a painting on the wall. That wasn’t there before, right? No! This was it! The painting seemed rather space-mysterious. She realized that she had done it — she was THERE!  In that world!  In the room of the man.

(The man was someone she knew and who knew her but they had never met. That is the best way I can explain it.)

There were people all over as if it were a… a school like a cross between a greco-roman mystery school (which I’d not actually heard of till Kate made a comment on two dreams I had once) and a socrates sort of center.

The man came out of a doorway and at first didn’t see me (her). He was an older man, but not real old, maybe late 40s early 50s, and he had a beard and grey hair and wore something akin to a colorful, patterned and painted robe, like someone out of a story.

He saw her and froze, his eyes wide, utterly astonished, and knowing who she was at once. He was so delighted that she was THERE, he could actually be around her physically! He seemed… like a mystic. Like someone out of a story of magical times of some fictional alternate reality.

She was very odd but in a way he found wonderful it appeared. She had a strange innocence and everything in his world was fascinating. She went outside and people stared at her in astonishment, as if they all knew she was something different, not from their world. He let her wander where she would, but stayed very close.

They didn’t say a word to each other. They both knew they didn’t speak the same language. Somehow that just made it more fascinating, especially for him.

And when they went back to his small living area, which was just a few rooms, he was surprisingly forward, though graceful and not pushy about it, touching her and pulling her to him as she walked around looking at things in the room, until he started sliding off her dress, and she realized they were going to make love. Which was just fine.

I was her right up until she started slipping out of her dress. I had this thought: but what about my stretch marks? How…. wait… but how can I have -- and it threw me literally out. Or she did. I dunno but we were shared perception until then.

They were lightly napping together. His body made him seem younger than his grey beard and longish hair did. And I woke up.

I was going about my morning when I thought back to my time with him.

And it was about ten minutes before I realized it wasn’t real. I mean that it was a dream. Because somehow, some neural wiring must have crossed, because for awhile, it was as real to me as anything could be, perhaps moreso.

I’ve had dreams that I felt “were more than dreams and were real on some level.”

I’ve not before had a dream that my brain literally confused with being real life.

Weird!

More this weekend, must meditate, am exhausted now and must sleep.

P