"The silver dime" [dream sonnet]
Aboard a train? well going somewhere and needing to pay the fare
I'd a pocket of coins (some large some small) the total perhaps not ample
but luckily I'd also a bunch of "coin-pages" a Sadguru's life-story where
reading each was worth a dime of virtue it seemed I'd an adequate sample
when we arrived in a field with desks I wanted to ask two questions
one if I needed to take time now to read pages prior to summing
those dime-pages each with an anecdote from the Tibetan's life second question?
no longer can I recall what it was for a different theme was coming
into the labyrinth of the dream in end I was given a questionnaire
the very first question (surprisingly) was whether I'd ever recorded
when alive other persons in video photo or audio my answer there
was extensive and detailed much experience of this my life had afforded
the silver dime on the coin-page would shine through its banal lamination
the total required was a couple of bucks for that ride to a waiting station
(An afterlife dream). Who was the Sadguru? On waking, the best I can say is, it seemed possibly to be someone like Tilopa (though he in fact was Indian, not Tibetan, but is the spiritual forebear of great Tibertan Buddhist gurus). Somehow or other I had picked up, or been given, the coin-pages, which rather came to my rescue. It didn't really seem I was familiar with the stories, it was more a case of handily (and slightly unexpectedly) having them, as a fortunate little resource to get me through what could otherwise prove a rough scrape. For just before they sort of "appeared" in my hands, I was reaching the conclusion although I had some nice coins, the total would be insufficient to cover the requisite fare. If I had to point to another figure I might associate with the Sadguru of the coin-pages, it would be Narayan Maharaj. Not that either of these figures was precisely the figure whose stories were found on those little laminated paragraphs (typed in courier font, with some underlining here and there). In dream, the "who" is so often different from any known waking "who," and sometimes (seemingly, in retrospect) a sort of composite.
The dream was partly influenced, I'd say, by a waking-life experience: a couple weeks ago, I'd ordered a sandwich, and counted out a lot of coins to complete the payment, but found in end I didn't have as much in coins as I'd imagined. (The folks at Subway seemed mildly surprised when I returned a couple days later and paid the $1 owing.) In dream, there were some interesting, affectless clerks at the desks. There was also a female companion with me to whom I was speaking -- and my answer to the quesionnaire question (given for her hearing, though she was not seemingly part of the reception administration) was given by me in speech rather than writing (unless I was simply reciting what I planned to write out). The form hardly had space enough for a lengthy answer. It seemed that such speaking was part of the process.