I had a lucid dream last night about Dad.
We were having a conversation in the church basement at one of the tables. He was wearing his bathrobe and his junk was hanging out. We both knew the end was near, so we had the talk again, but this time we went deeper into the problems we were having with each other.
It felt real. It felt like we really were speaking to each other – that he had his own things to say, and I had mine. I wasn’t subconsciously putting words into his mouth.
As we spoke, the scenery changed. There was a bone pile we picked through – his future bones. We picked through them in as casual a manner as we used to do, hunting for golf balls when I was a kid. Stephen Harper was in there too.
I think dad was a Conservative.
There was a lot of water around. I wanted to bring up the canoe with him, but decided to save it for another time. He wanted to talk, so I let him. I followed him through time and space, over the course of that same conversation, and in the end, I felt like we found something we lost.
I was inside my dream, feeling myself tossing and turning in my bed. I looked at Dad and told him I would be waking up soon. We both felt this surreal little world slipping away.
We hugged and we kissed, and I told him he was welcome to drop in for a visit to this place anytime.
He liked the idea of that.