Geometric dreams.  Vivid dreams that are staying with me.  I go through dry patches where nothing dreamt survives into daylight.  Now (had to stop then.  The theme from Lawrence of Arabia on the radio.  Great sweeping panoramic exotic sounds.  Music so aligned with the breath.  Had I been holding my breath? for I took a huge deep clearing one at the start, like a breath of release or relief.  Music is such a powerful medium, because it moves through time and is not static like art?  The written word moves through time too and has changed the course of history repeatedly.  But music!  I think if we could saturate war zones with Debussy's Syrinx or Williams soundtrack to Schindler's list, soldiers would put down their weapons and weep with the sheer beauty.  But then I am constantly arrogantly amazed that people don't think like I do.  Like litter.  Walking the dogs I am forever picking up litter.  This 5km dead end road is bordered by giant gum trees, green hills, brigalow scrub, wattles and is quite simply, very beautiful.  So why am I picking up soft drink cans, KFC containers, cigarette packs and other common detritus of modern society?  A few days ago while riding I saw from my higher vantage point someone had flung a bag of garbage into the undergrowth.  Haven't picked it up yet as I need Richard with me to hold the dogs - and to help carry it back.  The point of this is not to have a whinge per se, although whinging does satisfy, but to illustrate that naturally people don't think like I do or they would never litter).

Which is a long seque from dreams.  I don't know why I'm remembering dreams again.  The first dream had our road transplanted to a caldera.  On the opposite side, on the rise leading to the lip was another collection of buildings.  The next night I dreamed of a flood, traced it to a neighbours dam, blue and half filled with water.  The dam was shaped like a roasting pan.  Last night, no dams or calderas but a bathroom with long louvered doors, a former vet nurse, a man tied at the wrists and the rope looped over a coat hook, horses, children underfoot, changing clothes, perfume and guests having a party on the verandah on the other side of the louvered doors.  Complicated and untranslateable. Why do we dream?  The unanswerable question.  The mind entertaining itself while the interfering conscious self sleeps? 

I would like to know the meaning of my dreams but find, as in reading Tarot for myself, that I am unable.  There is no eureka moment, only frustration and confusion.  Despite this I still like to write them down.