Panama (spwebdesign) wrote,

I had a most curious dream this morning from which I awoke about 4:30. The earliest part I can recall involves me finishing up in the bathroom. It was a sizable bathroom, the kind you might find in an airport. There was one row of two or three stalls, and to the left of that the row of sinks, behind which was the exit which led off to the left (if you were washing your hands; right if you were facing the exit). Everything was painted in a pale yellow color. I finished my business and went back outside where I was with Ilana. Now, I don't remember the details of this part of the dream, but I got the impression that at one point she said something to her deceased father, speaking to him as though he were in the room. (Odd, since her father is very much alive.) Anyhow, I had to take another leak, which isn't unusual if I've accompanied my copious quantities of water with a little caffeine.

I entered one of the stalls, and I too spoke to Ilana's father, as though I were saying a prayer, or moreso as though his spirit were hovering around somewhere and I was conversing with him. I assured him that my intentions with Ilana were honorable, that I really liked and admired her and very much desired the opportunity to develop a relationship with her. I finished up my business in the stall and proceeded to wash my hands. As I neared the row of sinks, what looked like a fat Indian businessman entered the bathroom and started speaking to me. He had a fat, round, brown face, slightly freckled, with a big grin that signaled he was a friendly soul. The messy hair on his head was an ugly yellow, which I thought was unusual for an Indian or Bengali man. He spoke in a language I did not at all understand. I tried to explain that I didn't understand what he was saying, and he seemed to get it, walking away towards the stalls. But then he returned to where I was washing my hands and continued talking to me. I felt as though he wanted something from me, and I was embarrassed that I couldn't give it. He was very friendly and outgoing, smiling and nodding his head vigorously, but unrelenting in his questioning, which yielded nothing but apologetic "I don't understand" gestures from me. Finally, he turned and walked to the exit. Surprisingly, though, he did not turn to the right when he reached the hallway to exit. Rather, he continued towards the back wall and simply faded away.

I hadn't had much time to recover from the realization that I had been interacting with a ghost, when another one materialized from the wall and approached me. This one was Japanese and had a stern face, dressed simply in plain gray, undecorative traditional attire and a samurai sword hanging from his side. He was not so friendly. He shouted some things to me in a hostile Japanese, and I wondered what I had done to offend him. Or whether the Indian guy had given a bad report on me. Or even whether Ilana's father's spirit had sent first the fat Indian businessman to make a friendly deal with me and then the Japanese "warrior" to deal with my "insolence." I don't know, but the Japanese guy grabbed his sword and attacked me. He plunged his sword up my nose and hacked at my face. Of course, I felt no pain, and my face remained intact. It was just a ghost, completely immaterial. Nonetheless, I was taken aback by this man's hostility towards me.

Then I woke up. Naturally, I had to pee.
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