Posted by: normanlgreen | December 4, 2011

Dream, December 4, 2011 God’s jigsaw

Dream, Home, 7:20 am

A law firm has asked me to collect some documents for scanning. It is before business hours both for them and for me. In the reception area of their office, there is one tower of records. Further into the building there is a large round table with many file folders, which they have separated into stacks where are materials that are germane and those that are not.

Knowing that he called me at such an early hour and that I must prepare to open my shop, one of the attorneys offers me the use of their shower. I bathe, careful not to let my water splash out onto the carpet, then find a cot on which I may close my eyes for a few minutes.

By the time I open them, it is past the hour when the shop should be open. I dash out the door with dissipating remorse. By the time I am a few blocks to the North, where I left my car, I have decided that everything can wait for me.

I approach a low wall that turns out to be the edge of a roof line of buildings that run from East to West. There is a street of shops below. I recognize that I stand on the roof of a parking garage. I take some stairs to the level below, where the space is devoid of cars.

People are preparing the space for defense. A man in his late sixties is seated at a small desk by the North wall. I engage him in conversation. He is calm despite the threat of invasion, as are the people who arrange supplies and pile sandbags to thicken the East wall. This wall holds all of the windows from which people can shoot at the street below. The building to our East has disappeared, and as I look up, I see sky, so the roof has gone away, as well.

Clouds have covered most of the sky as the sun has moved far to the West. Just East of the zenith, a kidney-shaped area has opened in the sky. This clear spot acts like a magnifying mirror. We see a section of a frozen pond suspended over our heads. The ice cracks. I say: “God’s jigsaw puzzle.” The gentleman agrees as the ice-forms actually divide into the shapes found in a puzzle box – nubs and slots in those typical arrangements. I say that I have never seen the sky behave in this way – “unless, of course, I am dreaming.”

The man laughs and says: “Of course you are dreaming.”

It has been a night of confusion between dream and wakefulness, so I joke that now I could control the zombies or whoever it is that is invading the town.

“Yes,” he says, “But you wouldn’t want to.”


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