I’m at a wilderness resort. The resort is divided between the rich and the not-rich. In between the two sections are water pools. The water is turquoise, murky and steamy. People at the wilderness resort have to be instructed how to float in the pools. The pools contain deep parts and we don’t know how to navigate those parts, nor do we know what creatures might be lurking in the depths, so we all float at the shallow edges. Then there’s a discussion, women seated at a long rectangular table. We’re talking about rare animals and someone mentions that rare animal shit would be good fertilizer for the garden. I pipe up, saying, “Cougar shit would be pretty rare.” Justin Trudeau is among us and he chimes in with, “Bear shit is rare.” And I don’t think bear shit is all that rare but I don’t contradict him.
Justin is not given deferential treatment and it seems as if people don’t know who he is. I know who he is and I’m very glad he is among us. One woman talks about her life and her challenges with poverty. I watch Trudeau listening intently. The skin of the woman’s face is heavily cracked and wrinkled from a hard life and possibly way too much sun. She wears heavy make-up around her eyes and I have trouble concentrating on the importance of her words, instead I am looking at the way the make-up didn’t make it into the cracks.
Then everybody is singing a song and my voice is surprisingly good. In fact, it’s so good I am leading the choir, adding harmonies and riffs which increase everyone’s delight. Then I stop singing because I have started to think. My mind has wandered, I’m pondering something. Then Trudeau looks at me and says, “Shellie, keep singing, we need your voice.” So I resume my singing.
Then we are informed that a dog is threatening people and someone reports that it’s large and aggressive. I volunteer to deal with the dog. I find the dog and then he’s leaning against my thigh. The dog has stiff pointy ears. He looks up and I see that he’s smiling. The open mouth reveals white pointy teeth but I am not afraid. I walk the dog toward the exit and he comes willingly because dogs and I are copacetic in my dreams.
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After I awoke from this dream I was reminded of a fascinating blog — I Dream of Barack — which compiled people’s sleeping dreams in the months prior to Barack Obama being elected in 2008.