One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy

I enter, as usual, via WILD-sink-through-the-bed

The Field

I hit the ground running with an enthusiastic gait. I have a plan today and want to get right to it. The Field looks a bit different today. The sun is already up. As I jog a few steps, the grass in front of me grows into taller hedges, cut into pathways like a hedge maze. Interesting, but I can't see over them. I wonder aloud: "I thought the grass was lower?" I make a squash-down gesture with my hands and the hedges lower to be about knee-high shrubs. "That's better." It looks nice, like a neatly maintained garden that you might see at a museum or university.

I zig and zag through the pathways and then slow my run as I approach what looks like a suitable clearing. "Where are The Players?" I shout. This is not a question; it is a command to summon The Players, a group of recurring DCs. Sure enough, the troupe of actors come running in from somewhere to the North and East. Today, they look like a diverse group of fresh-faced twentysomethings in contemporary attire. Like young thespians right out of college.

The Players are, in my imagination, the troupe of actors who play all the DC roles in all my dreams. But when I want, I interact with them as if they were actors rather than as the DCs they portray. It is sort of like a backstage pass to the theater of my dreams. Even as The Players, they still look different every time, but more consistently as actor stereotypes.

The troupe falls in line like a company of soldiers in front of me and stand at attention, but easy, smiling, eager. There are about 20 of them.

I address them: "We are going to do something different. We are going to stage a play."

This is received with a cheer and big smiles. One of them speaks up, a handsome young man with dark brown hair and oh-so-perfect stubble for a beard. He is Arlecchino. The anglophone audience would know him as Harlequin. I call him Arlo. He is more often than not in Harlequin costume and speaks with an Italian accent, but not today. Actually, when they aren't in costume I never really know which is which, but Arlo is the leader so he is always whoever speaks first.

He asks: "What play will we do?"

"Arlo, I leave that up to you. I might give you some more direction later." They all seem to understand. My hope is that we will continue in another dream. They break formation and huddle into small groups, I suppose to brainstorm ideas for the play, or maybe they are just chit chatting.

One young lady approaches me. She is no doubt the Player who I sometimes call The Goddess, but she is playing it rather cool today. She is dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans. She has long dark brown hair, simply styled. She has a youthful face with a beauty mark on her chin. She sidles up to me, casually but flirtatious enough that I know where this is going. She leans her weight into me, hip first, and I am struck with her pure feminine-ness. No doubt, The Goddess.

Today she speaks with a thick French accent with an affectation of imperfect English. « You know, I think, maybe, zees play does not need clothing. »

"Uh huh..." I play along, flirtatiously.

« You know, maybe, it could be just you and me, in zee nude, in a room. You, with a camera. You are good with zee camera, no? » She teases me, pretending to hold a camera and point it a me.

"Always a good idea. We will have to continue this later, my dear." I don't want to linger too long with The Players. I want them to do their own thing. She pouts adorably, but knowingly lets me go.

I leave them. I'm just going to explore now. I set off East and a bit South flying toward a building.

An office building

How to describe it. It is a modern, open building plan. There is a long narrow patio in the center, and on either side are open-air walkways that connect further into the building. I fly through the central patio, wondering what this building might be. There are no people to be found. The patio eventually dead-ends so I land on a walkway about 3 stories up. Going deeper into the building, it now seems high security. Every door has a complicated-looking electronic lock and entry system and all the lights are blinking red, which I guess means they are locked. I arrive at a stairway guarded by a laser field. Hmm. I turn to the nearest door. I've never seen these locks before but I just start pressing buttons. It always works if you hold one button until the light changes, and then you press another button. The light turns green and buzzes. Easy peasy.

I enter the room and, either to my disappointment or amusement, it is a bathroom. There are a few stalls, each with a heavy metal door that looks like it could resist a tank shell. Ha! I think. What a well secured toilet. Well, I'm not sure what to do next, but I do still have The Goddess on my mind. I suppose I'll take her up on her offer right here.

With the intent to summon, I start to open one of the stall doors and command: "Where's my pus--?" And in the stall, a cat appears. I laugh. I totally deserved that. Amused as always, I pick up the cat, but she kicks away and runs off out of the room. I follow into the hallway but this dream is coming to an end and starts to fade. Good times.

---

In retrospect, while I only considered sex at the very end, I think a Freudian view would be that the office building was entirely sexual. Navigating the long patio between two buildings was like traveling the space between two legs. I arrive at where they meet and find the highest security and finally a forbidden place, but I am able to unlock it. Then a bathroom and more protection. And then the cat. It's almost cliché, now that I think of it.