A mechanic and two of his assistants arrive at the front door of my dream, somewhere between the snooze button and waking.
In the end, there was no issue with car except for some melting ice cream sandwiches in the back seat.
But there was that Black Hills gold ring I was gifted back in high school. The Bohemian pulled it from the jewelry box and showed the mechanic the broken, inlaid leaf.
The mechanic says we can see the artist that made the ring if we look closely at the underside. I use my camera at the macro setting and zoom to reveal the smallest sketching in the gold. A hidden, miniature world is revealed, detailing a palm tree, a man, and the name Bruce Piston.
We are grateful to the mechanic and friends for their assistance and pay them something for their time, happy it’s not a hefty repair bill. We walk them to the door and say goodbye.
I wake, turn off the snooze setting, and rise.
I think we should all know what drives us, but I’ll admit that I have to refresh my memory on exactly what a piston does beneath the hood.
If I understand correctly, it’s a shaft that exerts force inside a cylinder, which ultimately creates a combustion that powers the vehicle. Piston rings (hmmm…) are seals that keep the shaft and cylinder lubricated in their motion.
Melting ice cream sandwiches, a Black Hills gold ring, false alarm on a car repair, and the miniature world of a dreamtime artist named Bruce. These are the threads, loose and scattered, that have yet to be woven to any neat conclusion or meaning.
That can be the welcome relief of dreams. And I love it that way.