Out of Egypt:

briefness of lucidity

I feel like my dreams lately have been becoming more significant. At least I've been remembering them better. Also, I find myself caught up abruptly by flashes of memory - snapshots of my past, usually of nature, that for some reason I have treasured. They have sustained me for years, I think, like a secret fire. In some ways, this urban life oppresses me. I'm still into forests and farmland at heart.

Last night I dreamt (what a funny word!) that something disastrous was about to happen, but that no one knew what it was. We all were in a grassy space, some kind of small enclosure, like a courtyard. I looked up to the sky to see something falling. I thought it was a meteor at first, and I was afraid that its impact would kill me. In fact, it was a playground ball - completely harmless.

That falling ball was the first of many. They collected on the ground - always near someone, but not in equal numbers. Some had few; some had many. Some had only regular balls; others had blow-up chairs or something similar. A thought came to my mind: "This isn't right - we should all have an equal number." But when I tried to play the equalizer, things did not go well; my attempts at leveling ended up destroying what little order there was.

This much I remember, and then I woke up.