AmbivaBlog: Dreamblogging a Blogdream

This is the classic children's book, Goodenough Gismo, by Richmond I. Kelsey, published in 1948. Nearly unavailable in libraries and the collector's market, it is posted here with love as an "orphan work" so that it may be seen and appreciated -- and perhaps even republished, as it deserves to be. After you read this book, it won't surprise you to learn that Richmond Irwin Kelsey (1905-1987) was an accomplished artist, or that as Dick Kelsey, he was one of the great Disney art directors, breaking your heart with "Pinocchio," "Dumbo," and "Bambi."

Do you dream about your blog?

I would assume that I must dream about mine, given how much I think about it. It is never far from me, kind of like the daemon in Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass. ("[T]he daemon is that part of you that helps you grow towards wisdom," Pullman says on his website.) But until today, I had never remembered a blogdream. That's probably just because I don't remember many dreams at all, these days. I know that I have been dreaming, but the requirement to jump up fully awake and tend to some need of my husband's blows the fragile dream fabric apart and away from me, beyond reach.

Lately, though, we've developed a new sleep pattern on the days when we don't have to go out for his physical therapy or acupuncture. After waking up at 5 or 6 A.M. to help him, I've stayed awake and worked for a few hours, despite not having had enough sleep. By late morning or noon I crave a nap to play catch-up, and we both sleep for a couple of hours in the middle of the day (a great summer practice anyway, see under siesta). Sometimes I have the luxury of lying there half-awake and half-asleep, and then I remember dreams. I'm surprised and reassured to find them as vast and spacious as my life right now is not.

This afternoon I dreamt about my blog.

I can remember only a piece of it, which begins with being outside, on a side street, and realizing that "the parade," which I had forgotten about, was about to go by on the avenue. I left my husband sitting in his wheelchair and went closer to the avenue to see. The Chicago Cubs were going by, in gray "away" uniforms. (What were the Chicago Cubs doing in a parade in New York? Probably reminding me that yesterday was my best high school friend Margaret's birthday. She's an impassioned lifelong Cub fan, and I closely associate them with her.) They were somehow marching sideways, facing the crowd on the other side of the avenue, so that I saw their broad backs, well-developed lats and cute butts in their tight-straining uniforms. I thought to myself, "There go a bunch of guys who can afford to spend all their time working out, building up their bodies." (It did not occur to me in the dream that they were probably on steroids.)

Jacques called to me, asking me what I saw, and I shouted back, "The Chicago Cubs!" He said, "What??" just like in real life (he's gotten hard of hearing). I yelled, "THE CUBS!!" He came rolling up to join me. His wheelchair, which in "real life" is manual and which I push (mostly to keep him from crossing in the middle of the avenue with arrogant recklessness and getting killed), had turned into a little red electric mobility scooter.

Next thing I remember, we're in a room, and the only two other people in it, sitting at a plain table in front of curtained windows, are Pope Benedict XVI and, next to him, a woman. His presence here has something to do with "the parade," but that's unclear. The woman is a well-known conservative intellectual, not one of those glamorous über-blondes like Ann Coulter, but a serious, plain, short, wide, middle-aged woman with an old-fashioned skirt and white blouse and an old-fashioned crimped and sprayed dark-blond hairdo. (I didn't think of this in the dream, but she could be a nun in street clothes, or an ex-nun.) And I realize right away that she has staked out this position by the Pope's side and made herself indispensable to him, a clever turf move.

For some reason, at first I do not speak to the Pope at all (shy, I guess), but to her. (I'm not alone. Is Jacques beside me, or is it my brother and spiritual fellow traveler David?) I don't remember what's said. Then she vanishes, and I realize that not speaking to the Pope has been a rude omission, so I lean forward and apologize with great respect. He makes a checked motion as if to reach out for my hand. I hesitate a moment and then reach out my hand, and he enfolds it in his, which are warm and soft and full of fine, gentle feeling. He says something about having so many thoughts that he doesn't want to forget, and I say something about how he should always write them down. During this conversation he vanishes through the wall like the Cheshire cat, and I'm talking with him on the phone.

What does all this have to do with my blog?

Well, as soon as both the woman and the Pope are gone, I'm thinking that this is a huge scoop -- the way she's maneuvered herself into his confidence -- and I can't wait to blog about it. It's so rare that I have anything of real substance to impart to the blogosphere -- any exclusive news, any inside dope! Mostly I'm just an artful bullshitter!

I realize right away that if I lead by saying that I've found the Pope alone with a woman, I will get lots of quick, hot attention, because it will be interpreted as a sexual scandal. But even if I only insinuate this, it will be a lie. There is absolutely nothing sexual about this woman's relationship with the Pope; it's spiritual, practical, and most of all, political. I know that if I were a smart and shameless blogger I would lead with the insinuation anyway, just to get the traffic, and then put on an innocent, "who, me?" face.

But I can't do it.

- amba

Comments

amba, you never said what you make of it all!! Come on, give up a little. LOL, what an amazing gift of imagination you have. (I like that you dreamed a *good* dream of Pope B XVI) {:^P

Posted by: karen | July 30, 2005 at 11:52 PM

I don't know what to make of it!

Posted by: amba | July 30, 2005 at 11:58 PM