All my dreams of late have this theme of travel in them. Wanderlust stirs inside me. I was in New York last night, and in the dream I dreamt that I had been there before in a dream, which I have. Strange to have a recollection of a dream in another dream. I suppose it makes sense because one doesn’t know when they’re dreaming.

I watched them launch this huge ship in New York harbor, but once it hit the water, it didn’t seem so big. Most of it sank below the surface, like the unconscious mind. It was BIG, like 20 stories tall, but only a few feet remained out of the water.

Night before last, I dreamt I was in some castle in Germany. I was night. A good friend of mine lunged at me with a dagger. I tried to block it and the dagger stabbed through my left hand. It hurt, but it wasn’t that bad. (It was so real that when I woke up, I looked at my hand and fully expected there to be a hole in it.) Then I started having problems breathing, but no one seemed to care. I got pissed and started yelling at them because they were ignoring me. Some ceremony was about to take place, but I missed it because I had to leave to get my hand fixed. I was ambivalent about this, irritated, but kind of happy about it.

Then I was in this bookstore with my father. It was built in a tree, similar to the Ewok buildings in Star Wars, but with modern architecture. It had wood floors and white bookshelves and glass walls. It was multi-leveled and we kept going up the stairs, stopping at various times to look at books. I don’t remember what any of the books were. It didn’t seem that important, what was important was the store itself and that my father (funny how I don’t want to call him dad when writing about this, it’s like he’s more a figure than the actual guy) was there. We got to the top of the bookstore and there was an Indian restaurant there. I hate Indian food, but I was indifferent about it in my dream. The restaurant was started by some Indian woman. She was some sort of national hero in India. I had no idea who she was, but I knew she was dead. The food was supposed to be vegetarian. Her family had taken over the restaurant after her death. They didn’t keep true to her vision of a vegi restaurant, so there were meat dishes too. We looked around, but didn’t order anything to eat.

Strange but true, but of course their dreams. They are always weird, but they always have some uncanny logic to them too. I'll probably spend the next week anguishing about out what they mean. Though I suppose I want to, that's why I wrote about them. For some reason, they seem important.

Later.