the train south-west

dreaming of travelling, again. I take a train (it is nearly always a train, on some occasions a bus, never seem to drive there)to some distant place, south and west and hundreds of miles away. a couple of times it has happened that I've mislaid my guitar and I spend the rest of the dream trying to retrieve it. Not his time, though; I don't get lost either. Or forget where I was supposed to go or who I was supposed to meet. i don't have to meet anybody. I'm on my own, which is both good and bad, i need to shed my luggage so I can explore this place.

sometimes dreams have a kind of multi-dimensional texture to them. They seem to extend and overlap with other dreams and perhaps other states of consciousness, other inner worlds in ways that seem both disturbing and impossible to recall when we wake up. Now I'm walking down the street in this town far down to the south and east, with no memory of having found my hotel or dumped my luggage. Indeed, I had no idea where that hotel was, now. the intervening chunk of time and memory was full with a confusing impression of having been on a vessel, a kind of boat being swept down an enclosed canal with red walls all around and dark turbulent waters like a rapid. i can see similar figures in the distance -then I realise that I'm seeing myself through a kind of mirror, a kink in space-time, I'd say, if that weren't such a tedious cliche. but all this belongs to the murkier part of the dream, there is another part which is, if still full of danger unseen and bothersome trouble, still even so more luminous.