This was a dream of severe contrasts. I started out in an igloo village. I do not mean a village where every home was an igloo, but rather a village of traditional looking houses encased within a single gigantic igloo. Some sort of ice dome, anyway.
It was apparently my job to make the massive ice bricks used to replace ones that were melted or worn away by exposure. But today I got a break from my toil to take part in an excursion to the desert, someplace I bet the people of this village rarely got to see.
Really it was just trading one bleak, barren wasteland for another, as if we could imagine nothing any further abstracted from our experience than the same sort of place but warmer. It was also paleontological in nature, as we were handed little brush and digging kits upon exiting the bus.
We proceeded to traverse difficult, rocky desert terrain until we arrived at the dig site and set about excavating a dinosaur skeleton. It seemed to me we were paying the tour guide to perform free labor he would ultimately benefit from once the skeleton was fully exposed.
After this we piled back onto the bus. It began to pour down rain. In the desire not to be soaked, I pulled the parts I needed out of my backpack to assemble something like a jetpack. It had no jet engines however, nor any other moving parts. It was totally silent in operation but nevertheless lifted me up off the ground.
I then zipped “between” the raindrops. I did not shrink but I could somehow weave in a serpentine fashion between the drops as they fell in slow motion in order to avoid being struck by any of them. When I landed there was a flabbergasted bystander who started touching the flight pack, asking questions.
I became nervous and asked her not to, told her I wasn’t a salesman and in all other ways did not desire to showcase the device to her. I think I wasn’t supposed to have it? Either I stole it or invented it but had not yet patented it and had no intention of sharing the technology with anybody.
Accordingly I did not want to draw too much attention to myself while using it lest people with more money and power track me down and do terrible things to get their hands on it. The woman was just fascinated by the spectacle, I don’t think she realized the danger she was putting me in.
But then again how did I expect to make routine use of such a machine while remaining inconspicuous? It’s not as if people would somehow miss the sight of a dude silently flying through the air. My dreams often are very well thought out in one respect but have gaping holes if examined from another angle.
Besides that, it seems to me that there is something symbolic about traveling between two extremes; desert and tundra, neither of which are supportive of life, passing indifferently by everything in between even though that’s where the land that’s actually tolerable to live on is found.
It would be really on the nose if I were bipolar or something. But I am often attracted to extremes of various ideas. I am attracted to discomfort as well as it seems to me that striving only to make yourself comfortable is the surest path to a particular sort of Hell many stagnate in today.
Nobody wants to read about moderate ideas either. So I think I gravitate towards the severe or outrageous because it makes for more interesting stories. Stuff like that hooks people in very effectively, as you can see from any supermarket tabloid rack.
Maybe this means I need more moderation in my life? I’m going overboard with something, or flying back and forth between one extreme and another, when I should be settling down somewhere in the middle? I don’t know. It bears further thought, however.
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