A Pilgrim’s Digression

Now that I have written my one obligatory political post for this month, I can return to writing about the things that are truly important.  Dreams, life, and literature.

In my dream, I am walking along the bank of the James River in Richmond. The River is high and muddy. The evening grows late. As I walk, the sun begins to set, but instead of turning back, I continue on.

Eventually, the city gives way to woods. The banks on either side of the river are heavily wooded, and the ground is growing rockier and steeper. Soon I am clambering over rocks, climbing away from the water’s edge towards the forest that is now above me. Still, I don’t turn back. Night is coming on fast.

By the time I reach the top, it is fully dark. There is no moon. I can hear the river below, rushing on its rapid course. The James is fairly shallow, so you might think of a river you have seen that is wide, but whitecapped with rapids.

On top of the cliff, I discover that I have come upon someone’s home and yard. An old fifties-model Chevy sits in the packed dirt of the driveway. In fact, the house itself appears to be old, what in my mind I describe as a “clapboard house.” I feel as if I have travelled back in time fifty years. I debate whether to go to the door and knock. There is a light coming from what I presume to be the living room.

I have to pee. I really have to pee. So right there in the yard, in full view of the large window from which the light emanates, I unzip and piss in the yard. What a relief.

Then, a woman appears in the window. She looks middle-aged and plainly attractive, though I can’t see her face well. She sees me pissing in her yard, and I have the impression that she is gawping at my penis, but I cannot stop the flow now. I had to go too badly to stop it now. Also, though I am frightened and conscious of the need to hurry up and zip up and skedaddle, I admit to feeling a rush of pleasure at exposing myself before this woman.

As I finish and zip up, she turns to someone in the house I can’t see and makes a comment. I can’t hear her. The person in the room must have said something, because she smiles as if he made an absolutely hilarious joke. Then she turns back to the window and resumes watching me, smiling to herself.

For a second, I stand there undecided. Should I go back the way I came, or follow the driveway to the road? I can feel my rising frustration with my indecision. If there is a man inside, he may even now be loading his shotgun.

With that thought, I turn and run towards the cliff where I came up from the river. The climb down is steep and slippery. I am pretty well bruised and scraped when I reach leveler ground.

I have a long way to go back, too. I start to think I should have gone the other way after all. “It’s always better to go forward than back,” I say to myself. I contemplate climbing the rocks again.

At this point, I wake up. It’s about 3:45 in the morning, and I really am about to burst. So I use the bathroom, and when I get back into bed I try to pick up the dream where I left off. I can get the feel of it. I can easily picture myself standing there looking up at the rocks, thinking I should climb them again. But I don’t know what happens next.