Being Holy. – The Flamingo Dream

Last night I went to bed as a Spiritualist and this morning I woke up as a Hindu. When I was asleep I had another most fabulous dream. This time I was walking along a promenade which ran along a river.  I was joined by a man I recognised as my lover, but I do not recall his face. The river ran fast, and was full of flamingos. All pink and different colours of pink. The feathers, the patterns were extraordinary. Strangely, because the current was so strong the birds fished for the shrimp entirely under the water. And this I recognised, and acknowledged to be strange, but only spoke of the different colours of pink. We were the only ones strolling there, and there was no land, or vision, or water, or surface outside of the promenade and the river, and this to I recognised to be strange but did not speak of. After a point, the river started to narrow, or the current started to quick, which one it was I am not positive, perhaps it was both. But there, there was a man who stood at the crossing of the river and offered a contraption which appeared like a coffee scoop, to catch the gold, which he claimed floated within the river. This I acknowledged, and could see. However, once again more important was the colours and shapes of the birds which I knew as flamingos, all the different shades of pink, and patterns of pink, that made up the birds, like the shrimp that they fished for. They had yellow eyes, and I came about the supposition that flamingos got their pink from the shrimp and their yellow eyes from the gold, which speckled them when they were under water. But this did not concern my lover, and he was taken aback by the opportunity to fish for gold, and became engrossed in greed, and insistence. He insisted that we take the scoop and fish for the gold, but to this I refused. And the more engrossed my lover became in the cause the larger the visual justification for it grew, and the larger my embarrassment. And as I shrunk into shame, a booth grew out of the ground behind the man, and my lover who were both facing me. It was a red tent, with a sign. And then people appeared to grow like the booth, from out of the ground, in an act of custom began to cue. And soon the entire promenade was busy, and the river was dirty. And then when I would squint I could see that there was but a small booth, a table covered with a striped red and white canopy. And the people that were there, were flamingos, and trees. And then, the man put the scoop into my hand and the strangest thing happened. I awoke. But I was not awake, I was still asleep, and this I knew. And I acknowledged that it was strange, but did not speak of it. And in my dream I was asleep, and awake at the same time. I could see myself sleeping, and lay next to myself waking my lover and telling him of my dream. And then I knew that I was still dreaming. So the dream continued and I did many things, busy things. Chores, and achievements, running, fighting, screaming, all at once. Busy Busy Busy. And then, there was nothing, but the sky and the ground were only light. And there was the river, and the scoop to catch gold, and the flamingos that fished under the river which ran fast like the sea. And I was alone, and the man who offered the scoop became an old man, stooped, but in a far away land. And the river became a river of sand, and the flamingos, green snakes. And this I acknowledged, and recognised as strange. And I was afraid. I wanted to drop the scoop, but then it was metal and it turned to red and searing melted into my hand. And as my hand melted so did the rest of my body, and so did the sand. And all was but light. I was asleep, and I awoke in a hospital bed, and then I changed into memories of deja-vous, and doing things and being things. and getting things done. But still I knew I had not awoken. And after that I do not remember, but I awoke, this time for certain, and felt alone in my lovers bed.

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