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Or Maybe it was Really a Dream

For awhile, I dreamed dreams featuring Cole, the cellist.  They followed very closely along the lines laid out by the first imaginary/dream-like encounter, and seemed to occur when I would fall asleep trying to get myself back into what I think of as the fantasy of him.  I am now convinced that the whole first part of the story was really a dream and not some sort of waking construct, although it surely seemed like the latter to me at the time.  As the days have passed, I've begun to believe that the very first appearance of Cole happened when I was actually asleep -- dreaming that I was awake and engaged in an elaborate fantasy.  That's a little convoluted, but I'm not going to put it out of the reach of my brain.

So...  I am thinking that my subsequent Cole dreams have been some kind of "lucid" dreaming, driven by my intent as I drift off to sleep.  A good Jungian analyst would insist that everyone that appears in our dreams is, in fact, US, and so I am finding my ongoing encounters with this itinerant cello player to be illustrative of my own interior state.

Cole and I seemed, for a good while, to be stuck in the same little funky Italian eatery where we went in the first elaborate fantasy.  It is a classic, with red and white checked oilcloth covered tables and flickering candles, and rough wood planked walls and floors.  Somehow, the place overlooks the Ohio River, and he and I spend hours talking and watching the boats go to and fro.  This in spite of the fact that, in my dream/fantasy, the place is somewhere near the school where I teach -- and that is nowhere close to the river.   Wherever the place might be, he and I sit right there, night after night in my dream, and talk and talk and talk.   I dreamed about Cole for a number of days, maybe a couple of weeks -- and then the dreamy cello playing mountain man packed his things in his nice, solid car -- and drove away.

How pitiful is that?

I've often been accused of "living too much in my head," and the fact that I cannot dream a dream in which Cole and I cannot get up from the red and white checkered table, and get it on seems to point directly to my headiness -- because the man seems to me to be eminently fuck-able.

Dossie Easton, author of the well known book on polyamory, "The Ethical Slut," would be able to give me a host of reasons why it would be healthy and good and freeing for me to at least be able to dream a poly "thing" with this guy.  Clearly my brain can conceive of the eroticism of such a connection...  I guess I would fail the slut test.  I liked Cole.  I thought Cole was attractive and sexy and interesting.  But I made no moves to initiate anything with him beyond talking -- and he made no moves on me (but then remember those Jungian types would insist that he is me).

So, what does Cole mean?  What purpose is served by Cole surfacing out of the inner workings of my brain?  Is that whole business only about releasing some of the pent-up sexual tension of these last months?  Is Cole and his lovely cello just an elaborate fabrication of my sex-starved psyche?  Is that funky little eatery my dream version of Disney World vacation?

I really do think that is the reality.  I've created an interesting little playground for my silly brain -- a place to go find a bit of amusement and relaxation from the daily stresses and strains.  I've been to Disney World.  It is a fun place; interesting and full of things to do that are completely different than the day to day realities that most regular folks deal with.  I spent a great week there with my family years ago, and we loved the place.  But, when the week was done?  I was glad to head home to the life that was mine; the life that was real.  I feel the same way about Cole -- it was an interesting diversion, but I am really not interested in the fantasy of a Cole.  I am, perhaps more than ever, invested in and committed to the life that is real.


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