The most beautiful dream.

This is a portion of a dream I just had. I would write the whole thing, but it would be far too long and this is the only interesting part. To me, anyway.

My only hope is that my writing skill is adequate to convey the beauty of this dream, but I fear it is not. Here is my best shot.
I just had the most beautiful dream about you. And no it wasn't about sex, before you say so.

What was it about, then?

It's complex. It was actually a dream inside a dream. I can't remember much else except for your scene, though.

Well come on, tell me about it!

I am sitting in some kind of theater, and everything is completely white. Or maybe grey is a better discription. Like I said, everything is white, but it's kind of dim and fuzzy, so things look a bit grey. There are no chairs, no walls, no nothing except the fuzziness and the grey, but I know I'm in a theater. I know that on the stage below me is an ice rink. This is where you come in.

I start to hear music. The invisible audience is silent. They never breathe, they never move, they just observe and listen. A lone guitar is playing. I feel like I could play you the song, but I can't remember the tune. All I do know is that it is pure. There is no other noise. Only the slow picking of the guitar. There is no longer a distinction between me and the audience. Everyone is the same. We are all mesmerized by the music. It is the one solitary occupation of our minds.

We have heard only a few notes, but it seems like a very long time. In our musical trance, we look towards the ice. There is a glow in the distance. Everything is still fuzzy, but we see the outline of a skater. It is you. In a dark outfit. Somehow being carried to us from an infinite distance. You get closer, the glow gets brighter, and our vision slowly clears. At the very moment before we reach clarity, you leap from your chariot, and now there are two elements in our world. In the grey void there is the music, and a spot of light that is you.

A last moment of silence and stillness as you pose and the guitar pauses, and your dance begins. You are liquid motion. You curve, you twirl. You flow. It's as if you are not moving in space, like the ice is moving under you, the bright spot in the void.

You move for a long time, but of course not long enough. We feel the music nearing its end, and we sense your motion losing its momentum. You slow, you slow, you stop. The final note plays and you hold your closing pose, and the fade returns. Your spot of white in the grey starts to blur and get darker, and eventually dissapears into the void. All we can do is remember now.
Because a power surge fried my DSL modem, this is being noded two days late. This dream stands as proof that I really need to stop watching CNN before I go to bed...

It's nearly dusk, and we're driving across a relatively desolate plain. Through the window of the humvee, I can see mountains on the horizon. The landscape strikes me as being very beige.

Let's pause to take stock of what I already know...

We stop the vehicle, and assess the situation. I'm unclear exactly what we're looking for. Whatever it is, we seem to be having trouble finding it. There seems to be some concern that we'll be discovered, as the Iraqi Army seems to disapprove of American scouts.

Some things are not adding up here. Although I've never been there, I am under the impression that most of Iraq is desert. Further (post-dream) research disproves that notion, with a possible setting being the Al Jazirah plains in northwest Iraq. And what are we doing driving about aimlessly in the Iraqi boondocks? Alone?

Our concerns are validated by the sudden appearance of two Iraqi vehicles, a jeep and an armored personnel carrier, about a half-mile away. We crowd into the humvee and race off in an attempt to flee from the Iraqis. It's unclear exactly how we plan to lose our pursuers, considering that we're in the middle of a featureless plain, we're being trailed by only a few thousand feet and our visibility stretches to the mountain ranges several dozen miles in the distance. No shots have been fired yet.

Did we take a siesta? How did two military vehicles get so close to us without benefit of cover? Why haven't they launched enough rockets at us to level St. Peter's?

I seem to nod off for a few minutes (hours?), only to awaken after nightfall. We've entered a forest and seem to have lost the Iraqis for the moment. The humvee is parked, and we walk around a large, blackened patch of ground that dominates a clearing. One end of the clearing is lit, seemingly by tiki torches. We congregate at this end of the clearing and walk up to a quaint cottage. We're supposed to rendezvous with someone here...with whom, I have no idea.

A forest clearing? Unless we have a magical Chitty Chitty Bang Bang humvee, there's no way that we could have made it to any forest, let alone a boreal forest, replete with birch trees. And how did my friend Drew's house get transported to northwestern Iraq?

It turns out that we aren't alone. The Iraqis appear with weapons drawn, surrounding us. My US Army escorts put up nary a struggle as we are corralled together at gunpoint. The Iraqi officer launches into a heavily accented, cliche-ridden tirade about how us silly Americans were foolish to believe that we could infiltrate Iraq undetected, and that hiding at the "Black Oasis," as this spot is apparently called, was futile. (It seems that Hollywood stereotypes have rooted themselves in my dreaming state.)

My dream is playing out like a badly-written spy drama. I'm officially embarrased with my subconscious mind.

Over the shoulder of the Iraqi officer, I see a glowing light begin to light up the night sky. As the intensity of the light increases, so does a roaring sound. It strikes us that the Black Oasis has been targeted for some sort of missile strike. I separate myself from the main body of American and Iraqi troops and run to the side of the cottage. Hurriedly, I begin to pull the slats from the bottom of the cottage's porch to expose the crawlspace. I'm about to enter the crawlspace when I have second thoughts; the strikes may collapse the house on top of me. I opt to huddle against the cottage's external foundation wall.

The ground is rocked by the explosions. Some time transpires after the missiles hit before I leave my hiding spot. I'm not sure if I passed out, or if I just wanted to make sure that I escaped being captured or shot by surviving Iraqis. When I emerge, only two others seem to have survived, both by taking shelter near me. One survivor, a female American officer, appears unhurt and is standing over top a severely wounded Iraqi. She's screaming incomprehensibly at him, threatening him with the automatic pistol she has positioned a few inches away from his eyebrow. Neither he nor I can understand a word she's saying.

I slowly pan my line of sight to my right to survey the destruction wrought by the missile strike. Bodies are strewn across the Black Oasis, and I am gripped by the sudden compulsion to take photographs.

My dream ends around this point. I don't pretend I have any idea what it means...

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