4th June Dream: Me, H and some other hundred workmen were redoing tiles, mostly on walls, of some cathedral/palace place. There was a Lord Durnstam, who had a black and gold crown. He was king of the local region. During a break, which had no set time, I wandered the main where most of the workmen were. Many walls had enormous and ornate wooden bookcases and in some vaulted alcoves there were a number of great paintings all sort of a standard size. The themes were mostly random, but pertaining to Durnstam. They were all privately commissioned by him and I wondered who the artist was. When I started working on the tiles at the start of the dream, the place seemed moodier and poorly lit. There was this contractor next to me, a woman with faded blonde hair which was tied back, though her hair wasn't that long anyway. She had cream colour pants and a white tank top. I didn't know what to do for whatever reason, or I was confused; so she started sort of poking fun about it but in a playful way. In any case I left this small room and turned around the corner looking for H, finding H immediately. I asked for help and he sort of rolled his eyes but got up and followed me. We went back to that small room with the lady, who was still there and working. H gave me a bit flat screwdriver to remove the mortar with. I said it wouldn't do, and asked where the electrician's chisel was. H said it would be too vicious but I didn't believe so. In any case, I started to remove mortar. But it wasn't like proper mortar, it was brittle yes, but also sort of soft. Part of me wondered how it was working at all or how it had remained in place undisturbed. Then the hall scene, while walking around, I was holding the screwdriver or maybe a big steel crowbar. It felt heavy but both not enough and too much to actually be either of those items; I don't remember my clothes. By the end of the dream I was in some side wing of the place. There were modern windows, big and plain. But the light mood was again poor and dark. The worker woman had followed for some time but H wasn't around anymore, having returned to working elsewhere. Then my old friend Da replaced the woman at some point and he was eating a sandwich, which he then passed me and then I had one of my own. I tried doing work while eating but it wasn't going to do, so I stopped trying to multitask like this and just held his sandwich and ate mine. Then at some point there was a big black man, sitting somewhere on the other side of the room, by the windows. He got up and started singing as he did. It was Gregory Porter and in the dream I heard the lyrics clearly, but I don't remember them anymore. They were some sort of comment on society as a whole. Earlier I remember on this side wing hall there were miniscule 1cm tiles all along the wall, making one long continuous mosaic. I thought I'd start on that wall from the bottom and said I was wanting to do these. Some worker walked past and almost laughed. The woman was still with me and pointed out it would be a nightmare to redo because I'd have to do the whole lot once I started. I was confused and up to that point hadn't realised the mosaic was proper tiles, explaining that I thought it was vinyl (lino cover). Notes: - Although this dream wasn't super vivid, some of the recall was quite detailed. The whole dream was quite long and felt like it took a while. - In reality there is no such place as Durnstam so there couldn't possibly be a Lord Durnstam. - The guy that sang like Gregory Porter, I don't remember him looking like the actual person; I remember the dream character as being a bit bigger and more athletic. Curiously enough this seems to relate to something I read only recently about gymnasts and musicians. - Unfortunately, song and lyrics and generally speaking, harmony and music, tend to be some of the first things I lose memory of on awakening. - The whole dream probably came about as we had recently been doing some tile-related work in our home. - I seem to remember the Lord was present in the main hall, but I may have just seen a portrait of him.
The dream begins with a line floating in midair, semitransparent with a pinkish fringe to it—a little like an ostrich feather. I compress it down to a point and store it away somehow. This thing has a long history behind it: back in the 14th century—there was a precise date, but I can no longer remember it—any number of these things were deliberately left out of an important document, like a charter, maybe. This was a political maneuver against the aristocracy: they were traditionally associated with it, and leaving them out rendered them invisible. That was 400 years ago—as my dream self reckons it—and nobody cares about any of that stuff anymore, but all those things have been floating around invisibly ever since. But I’ve just found this one. It’s nothing important—maybe some quirk or mannerism is all—but the workmen seem happy that it’s been brought to light again. They’re working on the garage door: that’s where we are, a garage—one that could pass for the garage in my current house, other than not having any junk in it. It’s time to see if the door is fixed: I press the button. The door comes down—a surprisingly complicated process—but in the end, some parts of it have come out of alignment. It looks like it still needs some work. 15.2.18
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