Call them the split personality dreams. Dreams in which different aspects of what you call me take different stands and the dreamer is in the privileged seat of the observer.
As far as those kinds of dreams go, this was a simple split down the middle. Two female characters. One, on the left of the “screen” – so to speak – close to a murky lichen-encrusted stone wall. Though not mentioned in words, the subtext said: Ireland. On the right: a local circus artist berated the other one for her “darkness”. A kind of snap-out-of-it pep talk. Talk of pleasant things why don’t you, if you’re depressed, see a shrink, etc.
I woke up before the “dark one” could answer. I know she wanted to say: you’re wrong. I see a hell of a lot of depressing stuff around me, but I’m not depressed. Should I see a doctor about the fact I’m not depressed? Should I take pills? Meditate? Should I pretend I don’t see the depressing stuff? Do I tell you to shut up about the fun stuff? No. So what’s your problem?
I’m awake now, so whatever the circus artist has to say, I’ll find out later.
Did I mention the long-but-fabulous article in The New York Times about the wave readers (my term, not theirs). Called The Secrets of the Wave Pilots, it was published on March 20th (the link refuses to embed here – look it up if you’re interested). It’s all about subtle signals – the kind a body registers but rarely takes into account because louder signals dominate the field. Meanwhile the quiet ones go on recording and signaling subtle changes in wind direction, atmospheric pressure, taste of the air on the tongue, behavior of other life forms in the surroundings.
Unusual at this time of year: when I walked with the dog in the early morning, the town was enshrouded in mist. Even the birds were dismayed.