Dream LXXXVI

I and a friend of mine were taking a tourist-type trip into the mines where black sand was taken from the earth. The mines were thousands of feet underground in huge caverns that were so vast, light was quickly leeched away and the openings stretched dark into seeming infinity.

We were waiting for our tour to begin, looking at the vast piles of black sand that were in front of the caverns. Even in the low light, the sand was more of a dark gray and stood out from the cavern mouths, which were so black they were like holes punched in reality.

The guide was about to tell us about the history of the mines when he suddenly got a call on his radio. It seemed that another worker had gotten lost deep in the mines and needed to be rescued, quickly, and he was the only one who could do so in the time necessary. However, the environs were too dangerous for him to abandon us, so he had to take us along on the rescue mission.

He told us the only way we could accompany him was that I had to press the side of my right foot tightly against the side of his left foot. I had to keep it absolutely tight, so that whenever he moved in the darkness, I would be able to follow and wouldn't risk being left behind. I understood and told my friend that she had to press her foot against mine in the same way.

Then we all set off into the darkness. Within moments there was no light at all, and we simply heaved ourselves through the sand at the direction of our tour guide. I followed along with him, and my friend with me. Had there been light, we probably would have looked like some strange entrant in a double three-legged race. I should note that I was pretty sure there were folks pressing against his right foot, but I hadn't caught more than a quick glimpse of them.

We went through the caverns for what seemed like hours. Suddenly, my eyes started seeing things--vast galleries of paintings like those of Paul Klee, only transparent and more cubistic. They rushed at me, as if I were racing through the gallery. I saw other modern works of abstract art, including Picassos and Braques. Then the light shifted and I was looking at wailing women in open air corridors, weeping over various bits of pottery. The images kept rushing past me, again flooding my eyes, so much so that it was hard to keep my foot pressed against that of the tour guide. He was shouting something, but I couldn't hear what he said because the colors in the images were so bright. I think it was something about ignoring the images...

At this point, I awoke, with the following "profound" (dream-derived) revelation: the eyes, the optic nerve, MUST see things, and if they cannot, they will invent things. This is where dreams come from.