One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy

I fall awake and I'm on The Moon. I came here to make a sandcastle for DiDi. As a way of saying goodbye, I suppose.

The sky is pitch black but The Moon's surface emits a magical gray moonlight. I kneel down. The Moon usually has a fine dusty sand on it, but tonight it's just a craggy rock. No sandcastles tonight. The rough rock scrapes my hands and my knees start to hurt.

Dismayed, I look around. I see The Goddess to my right. She's still, facing away from me so I can't see her face. She appears in black-and-white. I suppose the whole dream is black-and-white, though that wasn't obvious before as there was no color cue.

She wears black thigh-high stockings and a short plaid skirt. She wears a half-shirt that reveals a bare midriff. The shirt in a more detailed black-and-white pattern, maybe houndstooth. In retrospect it's a pretty sexy outfit, but that's not the impression I had in the moment. Her arms are folded and, even though I don't see her face, her image just seems sad and frigid.

I stand up and walk to her. "DiDi's gone." She doesn't react. I impulsively reach my hands around her bare waist. It feels real, but cold and stiff. She still doesn't react. I reach up under her half-shirt to feel her breasts and they too just feel stiff. A wave of emotion hits me, mostly shame.

Rather upset now, my mind flashes on the clay and the potter, which has been on my mind for some days now, but why it would come to me now only made sense later. But anyways, thinking of the clay makes a potter's wheel appear next to me, this time to my left. On top is a lump of clay and it's in full color, which seems promising. It's that reddish brown that only clay is. My hands reach for it, hoping to mould something. But the clay, too, is stiff and cold and barely budges even as I lean my whole weight into it.

I look at my hands. They aren't distorted but they tremble, as if weak. Unfocused, The Dreaming shudders and I wake, left alone in bed.

I reflect. Shall the clay ask the potter: What makest thou? It's a theological question and, though I'm not religious, it still interests me, especially in the context of dreaming. It's been on my mind for a couple weeks now, since it appeared in a previous dream. I think about the clay and The Moon. My hands. Another phrase dawns on me: What hath God wrought? Yes, it's all kind of interesting and it amuses my curiosity, but it's also a bit facile and trite. I mean, I'm just dabbling in this theological stuff in an intellectual way.

But then, for the first time, I make the connection of "God" and "The Goddess." It's right there under my nose, but it hadn't occurred to me before. So my mind lingers on that. I associate "God" with creation and omnipotence. But "The Goddess" is something else. She is perfection. I suppose that's sexist. But I'm hoping there's more meaning in it than that.

Could she be The Potter? No. I mean, I'm obviously The Clay and not The Potter, no matter how grandiose my delusions are. I'm clay, She's clay, The Dreaming is clay. It's all clay.

I don't see where this is going, besides an ego-check. Maybe that's enough. Goodbye DiDi.