the Dream

  

I had a dream that I was standing in front of people while I was naked.  They were looking at me critically, as if I were composed of separate parts; lights and darks, shadows, highlights. I felt as elegant as a queen and as important as a delicious piece of meat.  They scrawled shapes and lines meant to designate me on books of paper.  They were intent in their purpose.
Sometimes they scowled at me, but I didn't really mind at all.  "I can only do the best I can do with this body that is just like any body why don't YOU get up here then" I scream, maybe  No one reacts as if I said anything at all so ....maybe I didn't.




I start rehearsing my Phebe monologue to the captive audience:


Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Think not I love him! tho I ask for him
Tis but a peevish boy

and as I blink I'm somewhere else, (damn, still naked).  There is a STUFFED RACCOON sitting at my feet.  I am a little chilly here but the music is good.  Same engrossed faces, I feel like I have to hold absolutely still.   Soon I get bored with this task and begin to work on my Portia monologue quietly:

The quality of mercy is not strained;
it droppeth as a gentle rain from heaven
upon the place beneath


I shiver and suddenly,

Oh god will this dream never stop?? I'm somewhere else but I'm wearing chain mail over my bare skin and it is killing me, I mean it really hurts!

 so i begin yelling my Cleopatra monologue:

Sir I'll eat no meat
I'll not drink sir.
If idle talk at once be necessary
I'll not speak neither
this mortal house I'll ruin
do Caesar what he can


and then-

No one is there.  Weird.  And I'm now standing barefoot on the floor and looking out over a giant empty hall.  Is that a pipe organ above the clock?  I think I see someone sitting at the other end, but I'm not sure.  All of a sudden, I'm cold and embarrassed.  There is a wind blowing through the space.





And then I woke up! I felt as if I had been working all night instead of sleeping.  My back hurt and my skin felt weird, it made me think of that chain mail.
I thought about that empty hall again with the strange
yellow patterns on the floor.




                     We are such stuff
as dreams are made on; and our little life
 is rounded with a sleep   -Prospero from The Tempest