A Pauper's Dream

It was an early March morning. I could feel the breeze skipping across my toes as I fell in and out of a dreamy slumber. I had several dreams that morning, but the one dream that tends to linger in my mind was the shortest dream of them all. I remember being in a circle amongst a group of old men who wore long ornate robes. I was a part of their group, which gave me a peculiar feeling because I am a woman. As my eyes peered down upon myself I saw that I was just like those in the circle. I too, was a man. I too, was a wise man. And I too, was a King.

I felt like I was ten again, trick and treating with my elephant mask and cardboard box for a body that didn't quite fit right. I knew I was still that same person sleeping, however, I was now looking out these eye sockets that were somehow not the same as the sockets shut upon my pillow. This body was a foreign instrument and my breath came in and out as if it was playing the song of life for the first time.

Before I could get accustomed to this new song I realized I was now in the center of the circle. In front of me was my opponent. Apparently this was a drill I was participating in -- preparing for the time I face my real nemesis. At first my attempts to fight off this opponent were feeble. I was still adjusting to the new box I was in. The men in the group were arguing over me. There were those who wanted to assist me and those who wanted me to fight on my own. I could hear them saying, "He has to do it himself or he will never be worthy of a King". One of the men jumped into the center to help me, I remember him teaching me ways to fight my opponent, and then returning to his place in the circle. Slowly I began to fight better.

It was soon clear that the battle was mine. I would succeed. Strangely enough, the way I won the battle was by merely touching my opponent's body on the front of his chest, where his armpit begins. And that was that -- I won the battle and was being approached with congratulations over my victory. I woke up to the sun caressing my head, gradually making advances towards my thoughts. I sat upright and opened my mouth to tell my roommate that I was just a King. I saw my Ego flutter by with big butterfly wings. How could I tell her something like that? Flustered, I pulled off the covers. My feet grimaced as they touched the cold March floor. Pulling on my socks, I made my way to the window. The city was beginning to wake. As she yawned and stretched the night owls and drunkards spilled out from her bedclothes and walked hazily by my window hooting at the sun. The construction workers were already putting on her war paint and the delivery trucks were stretching down her streets. The city said good morning with one potent kiss and I was wide awake, my thoughts lost in the morning noise.

Since that morning I have often thought about my dream and the strange feelings that tagged along with it. "Why did I appear to be a holy king?" "What was I preparing for?" Upon thinking over my life, my existence on earth, and whether or not E really equals MC squared, I have come up with a couple interpretations. I think perhaps my dream was about a spiritual battle I was preparing for. The Holy Kings were a league of Angels there to help and guide me through my battle. There were laws that governed the Angels, particularly regarding the level of their intervention. I also got the feeling that the Angels themselves were established on a definite level, as well. I still see this interpretation as a likely conclusion, however, several months later I experienced something that would focus my perception of the dream on different levels. I had just finished an exhilarating run and was walking along a path by the East river. The waves seemed to be crashing particularly harder that day. Sometimes even spraying me. I came to a point in the pathway where it is difficult for two people to pass threw at the same time.

I noticed a man coming from the other direction. I paid no attention to him and continued to follow the river. The next thing I knew I was yanked out of my thoughts and slammed on the pavement. My head hit the stone cold pavement with a thug. I looked up and saw a pair of hands -- cold filthy hands pushing on me, between my legs. Meanwhile, my thoughts had ran off with the tide and left me to sink into confusion. I struggled to reach the surface and punched him in the exact place I hit my opponent in the dream. The man just grinned at me. Just grinned. Never said a word. As he casually strolled away I screamed at him, "Don't ever touch me again!!!.

I started to run. I ran all the way back to my apartment yet I could not shake him off my thoughts. My insides squealed as if they were wrapped tight by a dirty blanket filled with all the sexist swine in the world. Soon my mind was being bombarded with remembrance of the dream.

Could this have anything to do with my dream? Can this dream be composed of several levels of definitions? Did I know this confrontation was going to happen and did I agree to have this confrontation? Where these Angels actually preparing me for a physical confrontation? Did I somehow know beforehand I would be confronted in this manner? I am sure I do not remember everything that went on in my dream. Perhaps if I could find these missing pieces I would be able to discern even another meaning from my dream. For now I am left to ponder with what I have.