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Toys, boys and the power of my voice

Sunday, July 16 2017 Views: 124

Summer, English countryside. I’m a guest in a posh mansion, spending most of the time entertaining the lady of the house by playing music and engaging in intelligent conversation. The dream is unusually filled with sound – music, birdsong through the open French door, the sound of my own voice that seems to flow untamed and unobstructed.

Afterwards I say my goodbyes to the lady of the house and go to staff quarters to return the violin I’ve been playing. A middle-aged man in grey overalls motions for me to put it on a small cupboard. There is a pile of black sex toys on it and I try to put the violin and the bow down so as not to drop any of those.

I go outside. A long straight driveway begins right at the front door and I walk unhurriedly, enjoying the sunshine and sounds of birdsong and crickets chirping. On the left side of the driveway at some distance there are three ponds in a row and a wooden pavilion. There are lots of cars parked of people who have gathered for some sort of New Age spiritual gathering. I observe them with mild interest and notice that the adults are sitting down meditating, looking asleep while the kids keep running around supervised.

I feel concerned and think I should go offer my help to look after the kids to make sure none fall into the water. I turn left to a smaller access road. A boy of about 15-16 runs towards me chased by about a dozen boys of the same age. He calls out to me: “Help!” and I recognise him as Will Graham and the first (and supposedly worst) of his pursuers as Ramsay Bolton. Will hides behind me and I think of nothing better than to shout at the top of my lungs at the bullies. My voice explodes like a shockwave at them, it’s not a screech, but an effortless mighty roar that literally knocks them to the ground.

Later I’m at the Summerhouse when I see Ramsay sneak around the neighbour’s house. I have a notion that he has arson on his mind and go outside to confront him. Seeing me approach, he turns to the fields and walks away. I know there’s nothing to burn for at least four miles and stand under the overhang by the shed overgrown with hops, watching him disappear in the distance. It’s cloudy now and the smell of hops seems like a bitter, sleep-inducing cloud too.

Additional Comments:

Inspired by friendly encouragement to use my voice, no doubt. A therapeutic dream in a way – reminded me of the two times my voice saved my life, when all I could do was scream. I’ve always thought of my voice as a perpetually ugly shapeshifter – it’s different in each language, but never cute and feminine. Time to put it to good use and, dunno, maybe record some singing or poetry reading or something else XD And cheers to everyone who cheered me on in my efforts to install Will Graham into my Dreamworld XD

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