He was tall and rivetingly handsome, striding towards the ocean, wearing a new, seafaring sweater and carrying something under his arm. What was it, an inflatable raft?
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the raft. Or was it a set of bagpipes?
He looked bewildered, as was I by now, but an old lady behind me coughed up, “It’s an urggg, urggg, urgggg …”
What was going on?!
She struggled on, a kind of phlegmy stutter, getting worse.
“It’s a kkkhhrrrkk, kkkhhrrkk, kkkkkkkkkkkyakyakyak.”
As I turned to look at her, I woke up and saw the source of her guttural utterances: the dog we were looking after was splayed out on her back beside the bed, snoring like a ten ton hippopotamus, “kkkhhrrkk, urgg, yak, yak, yak.”
Sounds, smells, lights and other stimuli from our sleeping environment often get absorbed into our dreams, challenging our dreaming minds to incorporate them into the dream storyline in a way that makes sense. A squeaky overhead fan once made it into one of my dreams as a screeching witch, while a biting mosquito transformed into a hypodermic syringe.
I wonder how long that dog had been snoring? Some time, I bet, given my struggle, in the dream, to name the mystery object: an inflatable raft and a set of bagpipes are both airbags, and that handsome dream man was carrying them exactly where lungs belong, under his arm. It’s the job of our dreams to make sense of our world, and mine did pretty well, linking snoring with lungs. Maybe I can catch up with the tall, rivetingly handsome man in my dreams tonight, and discover what was going to happen next.
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