I just had an interesting dream. And something extremely unusual has been happening to me in my dreams in general. Regarding the latter, all my life as long as I can remember I have been at, or have put myself at, a disadvantage in my dreamlife. I always lose fights, I often freeze when being chased, I never have the right 'comeback' in dreams with a social connection. When I wake up I ask myself 'why'.....am I a coward at heart?, are these deep feelings of inferiority, or is it perhaps that my subconscious doesn't want me to be over confident when I am awake (something, as an aside, that my daylife, painfully at times, also teaches me)? Or, is it just the nature of (my) dreams to be enigmatical? I have never been a believer too much in 'meaning'; there are often, I believe, stimuli we add to our daily lives...think alcohol, for instance...that might be a simple cause of subconscious wanderings.
But in the last 6 months this has changed considerably. Now I find myself winning fights, having verbal success/being quicker witted, and being on occasion enigmatic and even powerful.
In the dream I just had I was dressed in dark clothing with a broad brimmed hat. I had a horse. I was in a dark, cold medieval type of countryside. Poor. Cold. Muddy. Farm animals, filth and stench. Winter. There had been a calamity in this village and I had been beseeched for help, even though mostly unknown to the inhabitants. I had been passing through or had briefly stopped on some mission of my own for myself, gathering information. People and livestock in the village had been mysteriously dying and the survivors were superstitious and ignorant. They feared the plague or other supernatural factors.
And for reasons unknown (but perhaps they, in this wild, dark place could also help me in my search) I had set about to help them. On my own I had quickly discovered that one of two plants, growing around the paddocks of their livestock and also along their unpaved streets, was deadly. But I was unsure which, and a wrong choice would lead to more death. One plant might be used for a cure and there were many sick in the village. Death might take a week and it was unclear how long it took for symptoms to appear. Thus, I did not have time to test each on animals. Thus, in haste I invoked Memnoch.
Memnoch, a demon, appeared to us all as a dark, indistinct swirling form, not much bigger than a man, pulsating with energy and power. He did not have a voice and I can not remember how 'he' told me how to tell which plant to use for what and how. But he did and I was able to stop the terror in the village and cure the sick. And afterwards the elders came to me and wanted to know how this had come to happen and whether they were in thrall to the demon, or cursed. And I laughed and said that if anyone was in thrall it was me alone. I explained that demons, although knowledgable and powerful, could not spend much time on our 'plane' because it weakened them, and that I had met Memnoch under unusual circumstances many, many years ago and we had formed an 'at will' understanding. Memnoch had a questing mind. I did legwork and research into areas he found interesting and could not investigate himself. In return he gave me guidance and occasional assistance. I explained that we had each learned what the other would and would not do. I explained that most demons were not all bad, though they did things in anger and avarice that often had awful consequences for humans.
Was there then, afterwards, something I wanted in this village; something they themselves perhaps did not know they knew or possessed? I woke up.
Well, a number of things. Firstly, the character could easily be Enoch Root, a centuries old player in many of the historical novels by Neal Stephenson. He dabbles in alchemy and science and rides a horse, and etc; I think he is even described with a similar hat. For the environment I am surrounded by villages with a medieval past and many look like they haven't changed much *. The weather is the same as the one outside my door. For stimulus I have last nights red wine and Johnny Walker Black. I am perhaps surprised I don't have this dream every night!
But, I am happy about the change in perspective in my dreams. Maybe it does signal some vote of confidence in the direction I am going, in some of the things I want to accomplish. Maybe it signals that I am more at peace with myself.
(*There are local farmers in each village that look like they stepped out of central casting for ignorant, stupid, medieval B movies. They are dirty and shuffle around in their little centuries old farm courtyards, bent over or leaning on pitchforks. The dung is piled nearby, often enough, and the smell (landluft, or 'country air' as they smiling grimly call it) is enough to sting the eyes and offend the nose. Together by the road, they converse in subdued tones and cast glances in my directions as I wander past. The dialect, even the quarter-hearted acknowledgements sometimes returned, is impenetrable. They could easily be out of a Stephen King or Tom Tryon, or Poe or Lovecraft, novel set in New (or olde) England. On the other hand, around the corner from their tractors are also often enough their BMW's or Benzes. Their farms are small, and cannot support them. I am told many are bankers in Frankfurt, the land in their families for perhaps centuries. Some cling possessively and maybe nostalgically to the few acres they have left and pool their farm equipment to keep costs down, swapping their produce for that on neighboring fields. I remember one night wandering in the summer at 10 or so. It was after dark, but on the field I was passing one farmer was still plowing or cutting, a blazing headlight on his tractor showing him the way. I imagined he had put in a full day somewhere in a suit, came home to a hurried dinner, and then went out again, exchanging the comfortable seat of his Audi for unyielding metal. And perhaps it was cathartic for him, as woodwork is for me.
That's it for now.
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