I am on line, on a "tour"; I am waiting on line, inside something large and hot-house humid, moving forward slowly into a large carrier ship.
Just moments before, it seemed, I was flying high above the trees, arms outward, to catch the wind, flying, captured in a warm safe beam of light, under a small craft, over lush green tree landscape, over rolling tree lined hills.
I know somehow that it is night time but the fields and countryside below are illuminated, lit up as though it were ten in the morning, but I know it's night because I am told that I am dreaming. For a few more brief seconds I see the green granular nature of the trees below and a visual exhilaration of flying combined with a sense of peace and happiness. I marvel at the texture and color and my movement above it.
I am dreaming but I am awake.
I am told by a tour guide, a warm deep resonant voice, always just out of sight, that I am to wait on line for a tour of the insides of a country estate. I am numb and dreaming. But I sense, and see oddly, the vision of one who is somehow awake, but paralyzed; one who guesses that he is awake.
Now, moving forward, people in a straight line, in front and in back of me; all are adults but now, they're on a narrow path surrounded by flat scenarios of English gardens. It is hot and humid with the rank smell of soil. People clutch in their fists, what might be brochures and move slowly forward in a single line, towards the large doorway country estate. I feel terribly bored, but am told to pretend out of kindness, and numbness, to be mildly interested. I pretend. A ticket taker sits on the left, at the entrance way, on a stool ,behind a pulpit-lectern, carefully observing the entering throng, not taking any tickets. On closer examination, I meet his eyes; He is a slim teenager and, I think that his denim coveralls looks ill suited and that both he and his attire seem out of place at the entrance of such an austere tourist attraction, and as though he could read my mind and shape shift, in two seconds ,he turns into a kindly old man. Even more puzzled, I proceed into the ship.
Everyone is awake but dreaming.
Inside, I see a waiting room, a dull, white room with no adornments and a black floor. Inside, in constant movement, are a dozen or so middle aged people, all sorted as only men. They pace and look around nervously. Some speak aloud ,but not to each other, as though wrapped in separate dreams. They make brief ,low voiced non-sequiturs and some look very worried. In the room, men move towards an empty buffet table, strangely empty of food or drink and carefully carrying nothing, return to a place in the room. A man, unhappy, short, slight, with a pinched face, walks directly up to my face and peers intensely up at me from the paper cup he is holding in hand and makes furtive eye contact. I stare back, remembering his face for many months afterwards. He wanders away muttering. I am unhappy; I am at a corporate party ,in a company I don't work for, and not only do I not know anyone, but the host has invited me to a buffet without food or drink; I am angry.
The tour guide, who always remains out of view, now tells me that it is a cocktail party. I am suddenly overwhelmed with the cumulative uncomfortable corporate uneasiness in each face and it repels me from the room. Looking for a door or exit I think;" I'd like to find the hosts of this party and give them a piece of my mind; no food no drink! What kind of party is this?"
But as I start off to look for the host with that thought in mind, a psychic leash is pulled and applied; I am frozen in place ,viscerally slapped with an emotional wave of terror and remorse. I am washed with a realization that it would not be a good idea to go as it would insult a most lethal and evil host. But my mind reasons, even though it is wrapped in alien imposed delusions and tied to a psychic leash of telepathy . In the midst of this delusion, I ask myself, why would going, scare me so? Why would I fear insulting a likely fearsome host, if I have no idea ,at all, who the host might be? With a mixed feeling of confusion but of having averted jeopardy, I quickly dismiss the idea.
I go back into the party. Everyone stared at my nakedness.
I blink and look again. All the men hold and drink from invisible cups and are half dressed. Each man is in an unhappy jittery dream. Again, I am quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of not belonging in that room.
Although the tour guide is watching, I sneak out into another, nearby seemingly empty smaller room. I am overwhelmed with joy; Free and wild, a child ego-state blossoms and I giggle with mischievous glee as the feeling overcomes me. I dropped to the black floor and darted under a table whose tablecloth drops to a few inches above the floor. I am quickly underneath. I am hiding. No one knows. Again, I am suddenly gripped with a joyful childishness that forces my eyes and mouth into contorted joy.
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