There’s almost always “another shoe to drop” when we dream, but usually it’s internal and often happens without the dreamer’s conscious awareness.
I wrote recently about my dream of a black swan.
A few days later, my beloved husband and I were putting fresh linens on our bed together, one of those sweet companionable things long-marrieds do together, each holding two corners of a sheet and UP! it goes to catch a breeze and settle itself square on the soft bed. I told Buck about my dream.
“It’s me,” he said. “I’m your black swan. You’ll always feel my steady heart and I’ll always have your back.” We looked at one another, me on one side of the bed, he on the other. His age, turning 81 this year, between us, wings stirring. Neither of us blinked in that long moment, then Buck smiled in that slow way that starts deep in his green eyes. I smiled, too. We fluffed the sheet again and felt its cool breeze on our faces.
It was a major interstate highway somewhere in Florida. For some inexplicable reason, Buck and I were driving separate cars. I think our destination was the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville. Not surprising, since we’ve been there many times and will be going again in early July. This time, though, we were approaching from a different direction, one completely unfamiliar to me, maybe from somewhere in South Florida rather than our normal route from Pensacola.
Even stranger, several days earlier, we had come the same way in one car, with Buck driving. The exit toward Jacksonville was tricky. I remember that.
This day, Buck was in front of me. Suddenly a car ahead of him spun out and left the roadway into the median. His car spun around, too, and as a result he was facing oncoming traffic, but I could see he was safely pulling off the road.
I was swept along in the fast-moving traffic trying to think fast about what I should do when I suddenly realized our exit was just ahead of me. I dove into it, drove a little ways and realized this was the wrong exit and I had no idea where I was. It was more like a theme park, similar to Disney, but I actually entered a kind of fairy tale kingdom right off the interstate with no opportunity for a U-turn.
Next thing I remember was Buck and I being together again in a dark parking lot, in only one car, and entering a back door to the hospital at Mayo via electronic sliding doors. We found ourselves in a medium-sized meeting room filled with old-fashioned metal folding chairs. The room was very dimly lit. I stood folding the armload of pale blue cotton sheets and pillow cases that I had walked in with, while Buck stood off to the side talking with a security guard. The elderly guard told Buck the President had been admitted to the hospital in grave condition.
I can’t recall any other details of this unusual dream.
The black swan with its beautiful red bill fit snugly in my arms, long neck draped over my shoulder, as if to watch my back. In this unusual dream last night, the swan went everywhere with me as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
I recall moving through crowds of people, talking to some, but no one asked about my swan and I didn’t mention it. I could feel its heart beating along with my own, not fluttery like one might expect, but deep, steady and reassuring.
Definitely one for my red box of dreams. Once written, never forgotten.