Most Vivid Dreams – part 72
It is healthy and enjoyable to write down my dreams from night-time and allow folks to pontificate about their meaning. So, get ready all you Josephs and Daniels…and Danielas and Josephines!
I was playing baseball at Yankee stadium. The place was packed, and all eyes were on me, but I wasn’t nervous at all. I had on my game face. I hit a line drive to center field and almost forgot to run to first base, because the hit surprised me so much.* I even made a double out of it, once I got to running. My double was replete with a really nice slide into second, I should add, and umpire-man called me “safe.”
Upon advancing to third base, I stole home on a catcher’s error. I dove headfirst and the crowd went especially wild. As I picked myself up from the victory-dirt I unabashedly sassed the catcher for fumbling around with the ball, and letting me score. But as I mocked him, I realized he was just an 85 year-old man with a long white beard. Then I felt a little bad for all of the jeering.
In another scene, Jesse Borden was showing me some cool new white linen garb he had picked up from his recent trip to India. It had all of these interesting things attached to it, like tiny whittled wood things that were actually little Indian flutes. Jesse was psyched to have such a cultural outfit with lovely musical instruments built within it. I remember thinking how “Jesse” it looked. Perfect for an African boy so wild with adventures. (His Mama would be proud.)
Then in another scene, I was in California or Florida, in a neighborhood where there were many fires spreading from some natural phenomenon. I was inside with a bunch of friends–I remember Jane, especially–and we were all having a grand time. That is, until I peered out the window and could see the fire heading towards us, and then I turned into Fire Marshall Nelly. I desperately tried to push everyone out of the house, but it took forever to convince them that there was danger, real danger, folks! They were totally lollygagging, and I was yelling at them to move. Once I finally got them shuffling, I grabbed my guitar, my laptop, and a few other odds and ends, and ran out of the house to safety. But nothing ended up happening, in the end. No fire. Just me yelling.
* (I may have played fast-pitch softball for 10 years in real life, but softball is not so much like Major League baseball.)