mmmmcmxviii

How Quaint.

The narrator, no, the purveyor of the dream,

me, myself, we were omniscient, so to speak.

I was on an airplane over a place that is a people.

It was luxurious.  In that luxurious way one assumes

or imagines (well, at least I do) Turks and Caicos might

be luxurious.  This was Polynesia.  And I was in an airplane.

And I was aware of the man driving or flying the airplane,

and of myself as a passenger within the airplane.  And was

this pilot ever flying.  He was the ultimate show-off.  But other

characters within the dream just called him the best.  As in the

best pilot ever.  To have flown us through buildings of such scale,

with such mechanical opening and closing doors (Science fiction,

at least momentarily.  You know how dreams can be.)  And where

did we land?  He flew this jet into a, let’s call it luxurious, yes, a

luxurious mall.  An extravagant one.  Wherein the spaces within

which the airplane was flying became more and more impossible,

smaller and smaller containments for the airplane.  Then, with a

bit of a whoop! we found that we were moving diagonally above an 

escalator (Was it going up or down? – It was a single escalator, as 

I recall it), the space around us wherein this flying vehicle might fit 

getting smaller and smaller, more and more impossible, and once 

we were at the top of where the escalator either began or ended,

upon a precipice that was just large enough the airplane, and

its cast and crew all unharmed, landed, almost as if it and we 

were landing upon a stack of gigantic tissues.  That gently.  Upon

a precipice in a place in which we were embarrassed, having

embarrassed ourselves, and having been through such a

flight, and such embarrassment, we were, I was, vulnerable.

Was this the one dream in the series after which I awoke in a

spectacular mood?  I believe so.  But I cannot remember.

Upon that precipice that particular dream ended.  Happy to

be unscathed, but also embarrassed to be so.