“Sometimes, I think the only art
left for us is slowly peeling
the label off a beer bottle while somebody
tells you about a dream they had.”

— lynda jean barry

—

I’m having that dream again.

Actually it’s more of a nightmare. But really, it’s just a psychological thriller that falsely advertises as a slasher dream to lure in unsuspecting teens. Never trust dreams.

It’s dark outside, which is unlikely since I’m rarely out in the dark and there’s no reason I would be dreaming this. A Hindu temple is awash in bright lights. I find this odd, because Raksha Bandhan isn’t until August 27, and I have no idea what Raksha Bandhan is. He may have played sitar on a George Harrison song. Possibly “While My Sitar Gently Weeps.” How does one unfold one’s love anyhow?

They may reveal this secret at Raksha Bandhan, so I make a mental Post-it note to attend. Why was Raksha Bandhan able to go to shows despite being a single father with kids? He had a baby sitar. Probably best that I can never find my mental Post-it notes at the end of runs.

I’m running, but it’s not really running. It’s more of a slow shuffle, which seems odd because you’d think I would speed things up in dreams. I’m supposed to be running the road to the TV towers at South Mountain, but I’m not seeing a mountain. I do see a heavily tattooed man on a Sting Ray with a boom box. Maybe it’s dream symbolism? Likely not; he’s not playing George Harrison.

And so I try to run up an underpass to compensate. Many, many times. Why in a dream, where you could run literally anywhere, would you choose an underpass? I suppose it’s better than planning a vacation around running in sand, but still.

I repeat the up and down a billion times, which is actually only four times but it’s my dream so I can count however I want, before cracking up and heading in the other direction.

The moon punches out after a long night, and Mr. Sun makes his triumphant return. This is the first thing in the dream that has made sense. I like running in daylight. The healing rays rejuvenate me. This will not be so bad.

But it is.

I continue along on my dream sidewalk with the annoying people who purposely wake up in the early hours to avoid the heat, looking all smug with their little Running Outfits and Matching Canine Companions. People are the worst.

And then I see Mo.

She is on her bike. She says she locked herself out of the apartment, which is impossible because you can only lock the door with a key. She is not wearing a helmet despite being one concussion away from having a concussion. And she is wearing a bright yellow shirt as the sun is coming up.

I assume this is some sort of dream symbolism, or possibly an early start to celebrating Raksha Bandhan. She gets a key from the car and then vanishes down the trail. There’s something in the way she moves. But I don’t recall sitar being part of that song.

संपादक की टिप्पणी: हाँ, Fit PA हिंदी में उपलब्ध है।

I continue on, mentally writing excuses to Coach Kim, whom I had persuaded only yesterday to re-do my entire schedule for this weekly run that is not happening. Coach Kim is still annoyed that I accused him of destroying the world, so I’m thinking he will savor the “I told you so” moment.

I stumble through a few more loops, wishing I had a beer bottle from which to peel the label. Why doesn’t Tailwind come with peelable labels?

I give up at 9 miles. Running in the wee hours to avoid the heat of the day is a smashing success, if “smashing success” can be defined as “total and abject failure.” I make a mental note to re-visit “The Abject of My Affection.” I remember that as being a good book, although I’m not sure if it’s allowed under my newly adopted Hinduism.

I drive home. I sit down in my chair. Mo is somewhere in the room but I’m not sure where.

And then I wake up.

Mo is cooking eggs. The cats are ignoring me. The Hinduism is intriguing me. A mixture of reality, consciousness and liberation. A world where George Harrison got more than two songs per Beatles album.

The Hindu dream state, known as “swapna,” apparently is a significant concept in Hindu philosophy. It represents one of the three primary states of consciousness, alongside waking and deep sleep. That must be where I was. Or possibly a bus stop in Des Moines. I’ve never been to Des Moines, so I wouldn’t have recognized it.

What must it have been like for Ernie Pook when he was abandoned from the comeek? One day you’re the starring act, and the next it’s all about Marlys. What did he do to fill the time? Maybe he took a bus to Des Moines. Although I don’t recall seeing him there.

I eat my eggs while writing Coach Kim the Message of Shame, the implosion of today’s outing. He does not say I told you so. He is kind and adjusts the schedule to bring it a bit closer to reality, wherever that might be. Coach Kim is basically my mom except he doesn’t call me Rare Bear.

We will try again tomorrow. And the next day. Because what else can you do?

I eat a piece of toast and go back to sleep. Never trust dreams.