My Bestie, Ruth and a tiny white horse.

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Nap Time

Last night I was really looking forward to sleeping in. I had spent the weekend in Searchmont, ON at the recreational/ski resort. There was a Youth Social Innovation (Algoma Nest) being put on, and I was excited to attend my first YSI gathering, as a participant. For the past couple of months I’ve been attending and facilitating different movements and group gatherings (4R’s, 4 Elements, Thinking Rock Community Arts). This essence of ‘freedom’ from the world of retail, which I walked away from in July, has been one of the best things that has ever happened. The ability to attend meetings/workshops, without the ball and chain of ‘a job’ is amazing. Of being able to take on new initiatives, and be doing the work that I want to be doing, has been very fulfilling.

I can give a lot. And I believe, that if you work for the universe, the universe will take care of you. At least for a certain time frame. And the best part is, I can sleep. Rest my bones, until the next contract rolls on by. To sleep before opportunities, and to rest after those opportunities were reached. After this weekend of emotions, personal spiritual challenges, zombie capture the flags and a round of frisbee, I was ready to rest my bones. So last night, I went to bed early, looking forward to sleeping in. Then I got up at 8:00 AM.

I tossed and turned on my couch. My bed is currently host to, what I call, The Clothes Beast. A project that needs me to go through my wardrobe so I can recycle, give away and hang up my pieces of attire. I have a thing for clothes. It’s an addiction. But I woke up at 8:00 AM. and went back to my slumber. Until I heard a faint knock on my door.

It was one of my best friends, Casey. They had access to my apartment, and was in search of their wallet. We didn’t find it. We told each other that we both had the day off. I told her, that if they wanted to return, to grab some coffee. They were running behind for an appointment, so she scampered off, and I slid back to bed/couch. And it was within this 50 minutes, that I had the most messed up dream. And I remembered it all.

Guelph was in Sault, Michigan

In the dream, Casey and I were heading across the river, from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan. It was raining. The roads were slippery. I sat in the back of the car, like a brown Miss Daisy. There was another person with us, they sat shotgun. I don’t remember their name, but they were female, in their late forties, petite, white, short dark hair, brown eyes and short. I don’t know who they were, but I could tell that they were sad; very sad. But with no tears. They had attached a motorized mountain bike, to the top of the car. Whatever that symbolism is, is beyond me to comprehend, but their role in the dream was short. Like their stature.

We crossed into the states, there was no border control. Thank whichever god. As we rolled along into town, the rain still wouldn’t let up. We turned a corner, and all over a sudden the bike, that was strapped to the roof, broke free from its bindings, and rolled off the roof, onto the hood and rode onto the road. It bumped into a curb, and landed on someone’s front lawn. And Casey still kept on driving.

The woman didn’t get upset, but told us that ‘this was her stop’. We had driven away from her bike, and we were close to an underpass. Casey pulled to the side of the road, and let the woman out. And she vanished into the rain. Again, I’m not sure what that part of the dream meant, or who this person was. She simply rode with us to Sault, Michigan (which now became Guelph, I know) and now had departed.

We drove passed a Burger King, how I miss their whoppers. And we drove into an older part of downtown. I told Casey to let me off, because I had to do something. Not questioning my desire to disembark from our adventure, my red-haired version of Morgan Freeman, let me off on the sidewalk. I got out of her car and began walking to an old apartment complex. I walked to the side of the building and went up the back way, and up the staircase. I didn’t have the keys, but I knew where I was going, and that wherever I was going, the entrances wouldn’t be locked.

After a couple flights of stairs, I opened a door to a long hallway, and there were multiple doors of different apartment dwellings. I found the one I was looking for, and walked in. I was home. I didn’t break in to a strangers home. I didn’t feel like I was breaking any law. It was my home. The layout was different to my actual apartment, but this place was home. My couches, my bookcases, the rugs, were all there. I felt at peace. Then I felt out of place, even though this place was ‘my home’. It didn’t feel like a dream at all.

Then I heard a soft squeak. I turned around and there were two kittens, underneath a window. One a tabby, with fluffy strands of orange and black fur. And one was white, and equally as fluffy as it’s counterpart. I played with them. I held them, and asked what their names were. This wasn’t any Alice in Wonderland type of dream, with snobbish, hookah smoking caterpillars. The kittens didn’t tell me their names. But than I heard another sound. The sound of little hooves. And there was this tiny, white barbie sized horse. I was taken away by this little creature, and forgot about the kittens. I mean, kittens are awesome, but when do you see a tiny little white horse? You don’t, so I gave it my full attention.

The horse didn’t care for the mini furry ones, and snorted at them when they came close. I lay on the floor at this point, and watched as the horse sniffed around me and began crawling on to my torso. With a gentle ‘snort’ it laid down on my stomach, with a thud. The impact hurt my side, and I had to brush him off a little. The rain outside still fell, and cleansed my window pane.

A Different Noise

Then I heard a different noise. The rustling of keys, outside my door. I jumped up, and answered the door. A woman stood there, with a perplexed look upon their face. Two folks, a man and woman, stood behind her, I’m guessing they were her children. “Oh, hello” she said, with a bewildered look upon her face, “I didn’t know I had a visitor.” I was as perplexed as she was, and asked, “I’m sorry can I help you?” “You are in my home.” and with this I spun around, thinking that his place would turn into a setting that was foreign. It wasn’t, the layout was different, but my furniture was there. “Well this can’t be. This is my home. My couches and stuff are here.”

Then I looked at this woman again, she smiled a little, nodded her head and closed here eyes. The people behind her, looked scared. They were scared. Who was this stranger in their companions home. When the lady opened her eyes, I realized that I met her before. In Mississagi First Nation, a few months earlier I was working with Thinking Rock Community Arts, as a local facilitator. It was a collaborative project with a project called Train of Thought. The ringleader, was the artistic director of Jumblees Theatre, Ruth Howard.

I looked again at the room I was in. Everything was beginning to change. But only slightly. The green love-seat, was now a green couch. The red bookshelf, was now wider and taller. The rugs were different. But there were aspects of the room, that didn’t change. The purple throw pillow was still the same. So was the purple throw blanket on the couch. And the books were the same. My adamant stance that I held, that this was my home, began to diminish. But the books were the same. I became confused and embarrassed.

Ruth at this point, was in the room with me. Watching me, as I lost my mind. I had become a mad person. I tried telling her about the kittens. Which she told me, “I don’t see them.” Then I told her about the miniature horse, that had hurt my appendix, or liver or ovary (I don’t have ovaries, but at this point I was delirious). Her eyebrows went up, and Ruth began nodding her head. Clearly, she could tell that I was ‘mad’ as well. Then I told her about the books on her shelf. She told me to look again. So I did. I wasn’t losing my mind. I knew that the books on the shelves of the now big red book shelf, held the narratives of queer history, social work text books and zombie novels. I looked again, and my heart sank. They were gone. None remained. The purple pillow and blanket were now gone as well.

I began to panic on the inside. Somehow I had broken into Ruth’s home, and magically transpired my furniture, fluffy kittens and a miniature white horse, into a dwelling that wasn’t mine. I started to apologize profusely for my actions, and she moved closer towards me, assuring that it was ‘okay’ but thought it best that I should leave. So I did. I walked out into the hallway, the two people, scurried into Ruth’s apartment, and locked the door behind me. I moved quickly down the hallway, and saw that each door had a handicap sticker on it. At this point I didn’t feel like investigating into what building I was actually in.

I went out the front way of this place, and headed into a front lobby, that had wood carvings and trimmings with a lavish tiled floor. I walked through a turnstile door, and walked back into the heavy rain. Wondering if Casey was still around. I decided to walk to Burger King, to text her and wait for them to pick me up.

I woke up frazzled and covered in goosebumps. The rain had stopped. And I could hear a faint knocking on my door. It was Casey, with two extra large cups of coffee from Tim Hortons. We sat down, and I began to tell her about my dream.

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