In Which I Have A Very Odd Dream.

Odd, perhaps, isn’t the word I’d use to describe it. Interesting, maybe. Realistic. Spiritual. Symbolic. Take your pick.

In my dream, I was in an enormous ballroom, in a big stone castle, and there was a ball going on. No one was dancing, though. All the girls were sniping at and insulting each other and the boys were standing around and snickering, until a loud woman’s voice cried “Enough!”

A mirror appeared at one end of the dance floor, and the woman’s voice continued, “Look in the mirror and see the truth of your soul.”

I went up to the mirror and looked inside. There was a beautiful landscape there, rolling mountains covered in blossoming cherry trees and autumn maples, however unlikely that is, and glowing like warm embers in the light of a setting sun. The mountains cupped a grassy valley containing a  quaint little village that bordered on the sea. There were fishermen coming back from a long day’s work, and bringing their haul out onto the docks for the group of waiting men and women to help carry it back to the village.

I was so overcome by the beauty of what I was seeing, the beauty of my soul, that I turned away from the mirror and a beautiful music I cannot remember began to play. I danced, big sweeping movements, twirling and dipping and leaping and curtsying, and let the aching beauty in my soul express itself in every movement. When I finished my dance, I looked up, and everyone was smiling, and a few of the other girls had started dancing as well.

One girl, however, who I knew was my best friend, with the odd logic of dreams, came up to me and started scolding me for making other people feel bad that they couldn’t do what I could do, and for dancing all over the dance floor instead of staying in one spot and giving other people space, and she sneered at me for being so pretentious that I would dance a dance I’d made up to music I’d made up at a public ball, instead of sticking to the formula. All of my happiness and joy came crashing down in ruins, and I started crying.

And then I looked back at the mirror and caught a glimpse of those gleaming, gorgeous mountains, and I looked back at her, and I told her, “It’s not my problem if I make you feel inadequate. It’s not my problem if you can’t do what I can do, or see what I can see. I’m not responsible for making you happy, and I don’t want to be your friend if you’re going to treat me this way.”

She slapped me and stormed out, and I started dancing again, this time among a group of other dancers. And I was happy.

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