I had a weird dream again last night. Come on in and let’s journey together to see what my subconscious has been up to.
Okay, here goes.
In my dream, I was eighteen again. (Hmm.) And I was sent to a boarding school by my family.
This boarding school looked very much like a castle. I didn’t see a lot of the exterior, though. The interior had tapestries, crystal chandeliers, statuaries, grand sweeping staircases — the works! And up one of those grand staircases was my living quarters. I got a room with a view of a wide green meadow and the bluest strip of sky.
There were students gathered around the large receiving area, under one of the largest chandeliers. One of those students was a prince of some country or something. And in my dream, we seem to know each other very well, as if he was a good friend. But we didn’t speak to each other. Others were busy vying for his attention. I just stood outside the crowd and thought how strange that the prince was sent to the same boarding school as mine.
Then there was a lull in the crowd. The prince of some country or something looked at where I was standing, and he smiled. I smiled back but didn’t say anything. Then I went up the stairs to my room. There was going to be a celebration of some sorts and I had to get dressed.
Opening one of the floor-to-ceiling closets in my room, I found dresses and gowns and wardrobe fit for royalty. I thought, “I can’t wear any of these!” and proceeded to open another closet. This time, the closet had blouses of silk, velvet, and the softest cotton.
“This is more like it,” I thought.
I peeled off my street clothes and took a blouse off the closet rack. When I put the thing on and looked in the mirror, I was horrified because what I had thought to be a very pretty blouse was one frumpy-looking number. It was of the dullest shade of purple and had a closed lace collar that scraped against my chin. I looked like a trussed jumbo eggplant. And the sleeves were puffy in the wrong places.
I explored the closet again for something more appropriate. Still, each time I chose a blouse, put it on, and looked in the mirror, the cut or design or style wasn’t as I expected it to be.
By then, I was distressed because I was going to be late already, and I still had nothing appropriate to wear.
It crossed my mind to sit out the celebration. I still had the option of choosing from the gowns made for royalty.
And so, of course, I woke up, with the dream leaving vestiges of a feeling that I should have done something.
Any thoughts on what the dream might mean in my waking state?