9:58 p.m. - 2003-01-11
All the World's a Stage
Funny dreams last night. Theme music throughout? (let me be your) Teddy Bear by Elvis. It's not my favorite by him, but when I tried, in my dreams, to switch to that I was told it was the right one. Go figure - I can't.
First, was me as a coach of a cricket team. Now, the only thing I know about cricket comes from a historical romance I read years ago, that spanned the generations from the arrival of Europeans in Jamaica to current times. There was a chapter dedicated to a particularly strategic match that had political and social impacts far beyond the scope of a team sport. All I really understood was that one wear white clothes, the equipment includes wickets, bats, it can take days to play one match, and that it has the oddest scoring system I've ever heard tell. Anyway, it seemed I was in England living in a very big mansion with beautiful estate-like lawns and gardens surrounding it. The practices were being held at my home - obviously not this lifetime, although I looked like me now. I was standing on the patio - marble, of course, with statuary everywhere - putting the team through its paces - wind sprints, kips, and such. There was a man standing beside me who seemed to be my spouse. He was helping to direct the activity. On the sidelines there was a man who actually seemed to know a lot about the game(s) acting as a referee. I say games because even though it was suppposed to be a cricket team the men were wearing rugby kit - jerseys and shorts. When they began to practice the game looked like a cross between the two sports. Can you imagine rugby players with bats in their hands? Oh yeah - that's lacrosse/jai alai.
Anyway, I turned and entered the mansion, but inside it became a home of the sixties - a friend's home. We were preparing to go out for the day - cruising I think. Her car was a black mustang, but like everything else in this part of the dream, it was old and a bit seedy. It was as if the community involved had been frozen in that era without being aware that forty years had passed. We drove down a slight incline and were approaching a school yard. I could see one of my sisters pushing a baby carriage with two little ones walking by her side (my sisters were still infants in the '60's). She was standing with a bunch of others moms waiting for school to let out for lunch. We asked if she wanted to come shopping with us, but she said no.
The scene shifted again and I found myself inside a massive, beautiful three or four storey mall but time had shifted again. The building was made mostly of bevelled glass and windows. The light poured in from outside, becoming amplified and prismatic in its passage through the building materials. All the shops were "high end" and were mixed with various fine arts studios and theaters. I loved the clothes that I and the others in the mall were wearing. Very fine fabrics, classic but feminine cuts. I was sitting by myself at a glass-topped wrought iron table reading and sipping a glass of iced tea. Behind me, in the window of a shop, was a photo of a beach with the word "Bahamas" printed across it - you could almost see the surf rolling along the white sands. I was thinking of entering that shop when a woman I worked with a couple of assignments ago, came by and said it was time to go. She took the elevator but I chose to walk up a sweeping spiral marble staircase to the third floor. We seemed to meet in front of the lobby to a large theater. I could see the actors beginning to arrive so that they could prepare for their performance that afternoon. I wasn't certain if we were to be acting or part of the audience, but we were invited to come and try on the clothes prepared for us. Then madame cat brought me back to this world. It was "play" time in her books too.
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