Cracking the ice

A few months ago I met a Masterchef finalist in a city bar. I hadn’t taken to her watching the show, but in person she was gracious and warm. A few weeks later I bumped into her again while she was doing a food demo. I stood in the crowd and our eyes met and then I left to return to work. The other night I dreamt about her.

Dreams are funny, revealing things. I woke from the dream feeling warm and fond of this Masterchef. The dream itself was largely forgotten, but the residue was affectionate. Now you can argue that it’s just a dream – something conjured up in the dark recesses of the mind, and ultimately a fantasy, a fiction. It’s not reality.

Dreams may not be the reality, but I think dreams are true to an individual reality. They harvest thoughts, feelings, emotions, whims from some deeper self. We carry on with our life daily generally skating across the surface of this deeper self. Dreams crack the ice and from the depths bring up truths we’re barely conscious of. They present these truths by way of fantastic, and often lurid tales. Often times I think these can often be read as parables, or when viewed obliquely a meaning is revealed.

Not that it means anything, but I suspect that some deep part of me responded unexpectedly in that chance meeting with the Masterchef. On a conscious level I was surprised. I liked her as a warm and genuine character. Then of course I went home and thought no more of it. I suspect meeting her again unexpectedly crystallised that sense, and made latent those initial impressions, which ultimately led to my dream the other night.

I’ll never see that Masterchef again, but that’s not the point.

A few weeks ago I had another very unexpected dream. Those who have read my blog more deeply know that once I had a girlfriend I loved deeply, but with whom I had a troubled relationship. Eventually we parted. Some years later I happened across the news that she was dead. I investigated and found that she had killed herself. A gaping maw opened in me. I was distressed, and eventually travelled into the bush to view her grave. I felt I had to do that, though of course it means nothing. I had loved her, and having loved her never really stopped loving her, though in a different way. One thing that came out of that was the vow that I had to live for her as well. What had happened was a tragedy.

I think of her occasionally now, but not a lot, though I’ll never forget her. I don’t recall dreaming of her for many years. Then a couple of weeks ago I dreamt of her again.

I think it came about at a time when I was struggling. I didn’t know if I might be homeless again soon, but thought I might. I felt stifled in a job I hated. I had no money, and soon no licence, and felt deep existential pangs. What am I doing? I thought all the time. What should I be doing? What does it all mean?

On that night I dreamt of her for the first time in years. Funnily enough the dream took back to one of those fictionalised environments where we have yet to get together for the first. I like her, and in that sceptical way believed she might like me too. But nothing tangible has happened yet. Instead I’m striving to get close to her, thinking of her all the time and imagining how it might be. For her part she seems to know, and approve, but at the same time doesn’t make it easy for me. As in real life she has a quick wit in the dream. We spar, delightedly, but frustratingly too, for just as we seem to get close she goes away again.

The dream is like that. Nothing is resolved. I think I will get with her, but often times I doubt it. Then I wake.

It feels good to have dreamt of her again. I feel sort of grateful, though it’s hard to articulate why. I know how it ends up – we do get together eventually, and it’s good. I go about getting myself ready for work. I’m so glad to have had her in my life. I love her still, though in a fraternal way. I remember the happy things, and am grateful for them. I’m so sad for what happened, but that’s hardly present in those moments. Instead I’m filled with the warm remembrance of the many good times we had together. I go to work happier than I have been in weeks.

Is this just a random dream? All of it is true, even if it is my own private truth. Why now though is it delivered to me? What was the prompt? And what is the meaning?

I don’t know, except perhaps to make me look more broadly, beyond my present travails. And more deeply, to the things truly of value. And to remind me perhaps, that I promised to live for her too, and I’ve a lot to do to achieve that. Somehow it was a dream of hope.

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