My latest exploration into digital publishing is collection of dreams put together as HTML, for it's interactive and multi-media possibilities. It can be found at: http://dreamlog.businesscatalyst.com/
495-February 12, 2013
The forest was unfamiliar to me, having been in the area only a short while. I was walking along a dirt road, the river to my left. A voice announced that those are Iowa Ivy Oaks. Then I saw them all around me: the thick trunks and gnarled branches, like other oaks, but the leaves grew along the trunk and the branches stuck out bare, odd, useless appendages. Something went wrong with evolution. As I said, the leaves grew along the trunk: translucent orange capturing the light and glowing.
Suspended between two trees—the oak were gone, these trees had dark green, almost black, foliage—resembling a dreamcatcher, was a bat. A beautiful, fox-like bat that began to pull itself toward a branch of one of the trees. Instead of flying it drew itself limb by limb like a gibbon, until it became a gibbon—dark green and black fur glinting like tinsel at Christmas—it crawled across several other trees, descending branch by branch until it met the ground and loped away, its fur rippling in cascades with each springing step.
A little monkey dressed like the flying monkeys from Oz solemnly strode in front of me, half chamberlain and half bellboy, almost toppling numerous times as it tried to retain its dignity and upright posture. Clutched in both hands was a skeleton key. Before it could reach the door in the earthen bank I snatched the key from its hands and opened the door myself. The monkey couldn’t stop scolding me and tried to prevent me from entering the room. This seemed a formal place. Diagonally across the room was another door, which the monkey tried to block with its tiny body. When that failed it repeatedly slapped my hands to keep me from opening the second door. Finally, I had it unlocked, gave it a shove and peered inside. Nothing of interest. There was a dirt floor sloping upward toward yet another door. The monkey crossed the threshold and walked toward that other door, shunning me. I remained in the first room.
I shut the door, locking it, and turned back to the first door, thinking to return to the forest. As I started across the room thick curtains began to draw shut on the tall, stained glass windows. Each window had a deep crimson or burgundy figure, like a coat of arms, surrounded by milky white glass. With just the last edge letting light through, the room took on a horrid hue then became impenetrably black.
I don’t think I even realized what was happening with the first attack. There were mysterious sounds of commotion, a blow to my body, and loss of consciousness. After that I experienced assault after assault until it came to me that I was being killed again and again by unknown assailants. They did not want me to cross the room. They did not want me re-entering the forest.
I awoke a king clad in chain mail and steel crown, a bloody sword in my right hand crossing my chest, an equally bloody thrusting spear crossing from my left. This time I turned to face my enemy. The first door had come ajar, light filtered in and I could see the warrior coming for my life. He was not human, nor from any world I knew, breathing tubes pointing out from a plate of a face like the sun’s rays in a pictogram. There was no malice in his face, just resignation for a job that needed to be done.
We did not do battle. As I strode to the door he tried to dissuade me, tried to convince me that I’d be violating something or other by leaving. I didn’t understand him. The words were clear but not the logic of them. He kept grabbing my shoulder, trying to spin me around to face him, but he didn’t attack with his weapons.
As I crossed the threshold, just for a moment he couldn’t follow me and I slammed the door shut. Then he threw himself at the door. The force of him warped the wood of the door until it took on his form. The door bulged and pulled away from the frame but held, it took on his form but held. I was about to thrust my sword through the planking, stab him right through the door. That wouldn’t have hurt him. It would have brought him into this world. His wound would have been a open invitation to this world—otherwise, he could not come.
As I looked away from the doorway shaped like an alien warrior, as I looked around me, no time seemed to have passed. I found myself in a forest of Iowa Ivy Oak with the sunlight shining through the leaves at the same angle as before. There were no bats. No key-carrying monkeys. No mysterious doorways in the hillside. I wore no armor, carried no weapons.
I was just myself.
Any moment now I will resume my walk in the wood, continuing toward my undisclosed destination. I will carry on as though nothing has happened.