. . .except it was not so much a goose as a chicken and not so much a golden egg as an indescribably beautiful emu egg.
At least that’s what I remembered in the morning.
My dreams are so bizarre right now. I blame it on my children repeatedly interrupting my REM.
I’ve always been fascinated by dreams, their whimsy, their insight into what’s really going on in my subconscious. It’s all very intriguing.
Here’s a couple good ones:
The other night I made a young Bob Dylan laugh. I was witty. Witty enough to get stoic Bob to crack a laugh. Apparently, its something I’ve always wished I could do.
Then, of course, the chickens that laid emu eggs. Actually, it was more complex than that. I kept picking up my feathered girls to pet them and each one left several of the dark turquoise, gigantic jeweled eggs in my hand until they were rolling out of my grasp. So many eggs. So much bigger than the hens are. Ouch.
Perhaps my affection for surrealism is rooted in my obsession with dreams. There is such freedom in dreams to imagine things your rational-eyes-wide-open mind wouldn’t dare invent. I find it all very amusing.
Photos: A real emu egg from marrisamcinturff on flickr, no kidding, they are that big. The other two photos are from Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison. I could hardly choose one favorite for this post, so I chose two. The middle photo is Lucid Dream, followed by Pollination. Please check them out! Their pieces are so theatrical and brilliantly constructed. They allow me to enjoy dreaming while awake. You’ll get lost in them. I’m especially fond of the Architect’s Brother series.