Heroes and Nightgowns

You were in my dream. There was a farm, and the stable was overcrowded and filthy. I was walking down a narrow aisle between the rows of stalls, and there you were. In tight jeans and a tucked in shirt, leading a horse to safety. Your lopsided grin when you saw me was full of something wonderful. The rest of the dream...the squalid conditions, the awful smell, the sadness for the animals I felt, it went up in a puff when I saw that smile.

In last night's dream, I was in class. In a nightgown. Not a sexy nightgown, by the way, but this long country cotton shift with ruffles and little delicate buttons. 

I understand the first dream. My subconscious still considers you my hero, and I'd been watching animal cops houston before going to bed. 

But I really have no idea on the second one.

Nothing to do with Anything

At the end of yoga, during our relaxation poses, the instructor has us laid out, eyes closed, focused totally inward. Then she rings this bell thing. I've never actually wanted to open my eyes to see it, that would spoil it. But for descriptive purposes, it sounds like a much deeper version of running your wet finger around the edge of a water glass. It gets inside your head somehow. At the end of this long tone, you start wondering if it is just in your head, if anyone else hears it, if you are perhaps so deep in a meditative state that it's only for you.

Tonight was like that, only with bagpipes. I know there is a debate over whether or not bagpipes are an actual musical instrument...some people think they sound like cats being stepped on. But what a delicious caterwhauling of sound. Just like that yoga bell, I closed my eyes, and that cacophany got inside my head and I could feel it all the way inside, rattling my bones.

I forget how good that feels, that transcendance.

Of course, it helped that the bagpipe player had a sexy brogue and a beard down to his waistband. Mmmm.