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Chapter 17 - A Sex Dream FantasyI had a dream after returning from Russia. In the dream, it appeared that one of the 'big' subject that he had talked about in the bright days on Lake Baikal, became regurgitated, though in a totally different context as this happens so often in dreams. The context in which the subject reemerged seemed almost unrelated to what we had talked about, and yet it was totally related. The dream unfolded in a way that made the subject far more challenging than I had dared to acknowledge to myself that it is. I dreamed that night that I was in a cafe with Sylvia. It appeared to be an ordinary run of the mill type cafe. The waitress was dressed in black, as waitresses often are. She had long black hair and wore a super-short miniskirt. And that is where the ordinary world ended. I became intensely aware that her miniskirt was too short, that it was so short that a few strands of her pubic hair protruded below the hemline. I couldn't help being aware of it as she stood by the cash register that was placed on a counter with a well-lit display case underneath. Suddenly the scene changed. It intensified. She turned and walked towards us, towards me. I was no longer aware of her face or her expression, but I did see those twisted strands of hair. She stopped at our table, almost touching it with her legs, and removed the ordering pad from her pouch. In the process of removing the pad she raised the hemline still higher, high enough to reveal more of the bush of her hair and what lay behind it. "Good morning! Do you like what you see?" she asked, as if she was asking for our order. I was stunned. Without the slightest hesitation I said, NO! I was embarrassed, unable to respond in any other way. Sylvia existed outside of the sphere of this moment. I couldn't sense the slightest reaction from her as if she hadn't heard, or as if she suddenly lived in a parallel Universe in which this was not happening. I observed that Sylvia ordered two cups of coffee for us, one large, one small, and a couple of Danish pastries. "That's what we like," she added. I looked away from the waitress, afraid of what might happen. I didn't want Sylvia to know, or her to have heard what had really been said. Sometime later I saw the waitress again, similarly engaged with a man at the far side of the cafe. Evidently, the man had answered differently. I could see his hand under her skirt. She was stroking his shoulders, his hair. They were both laughing, even kissing at times. At the end, after countless minutes had passed she received what looked like a ten-dollar tip from him, which was presented to her with an another kiss, and was received in the same manner and with a great big smile. When she walked away, the man just sat there in a daze, still smiling. Moments later she brought him his coffee. "Have you been honest with yourself?" I heard Sylvia say to me in my dream, from across the table, when the strange affair across the room had ended. "I bet you would have loved to trade places with that man." I hesitated. "The answer is both, no and yes, all at the same time." I answered her, perplexed. "No," I said, "I have not been honest with myself. And, yes, I would have loved to trade places with the man. But how did you know?" She simply nodded. As it was, my deeply honest answer to her had startled me so much that I awoke. Why did I say these things? I pondered when I opened my eyes. What does it all mean? I suddenly realized that the whole dream was more related to Indira, than Sylvia. She had used similar words that morning on the balcony in New Delhi, asking, "Do you love what you see?" I knew that my response to her would have again be a, Yes, without reservation and hesitation, and I knew that this response would have stood on a foundation that was as rich than the entire manifestation was rich, that eventually unfolded from it. There hadn't been a trace of a vertical relationship between us, ever. I was puzzled about my dream, therefore. Could the same be said about what had been offered to me in my dream? Or was the regret, which I had admitted to Sylvia later on, the regret of a beggar who had bungled a great opportunity? || - page index - || - chapter index - || - Exit - ||
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