Pure of mind, darnit…
Thanks to my daughter’s fondness of Celtic Thunder, I hear them in my car. I see them on TV at home. Not that I’m complaining, really. (Because have you heard them yet? Why not? What’s your excuse? There’s something for everyone. Seriously. Jump on my bandwagon.)
Anyway, I’m inundated with them. So much so that they have now seeped into my subconscious.
I had a dream, and there they were. Well, I think all of them were there, but mostly I remember one in particular — the young blonde, Keith Harkin. Not a bad one to be center stage, right? (You have to look at the picture. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Right click, open it up.) Anyhow, he was there, I was there, and he slipped a napkin into my hand. I looked down and written on it was, Meet me here at 2 a.m. The napkin was from a restaurant, and apparently I could travel through time because the next thing I knew, it was two in the morning and I was at the restaurant searching for him.
I looked and looked, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. I kept looking at the napkin, looking around at the few people who were up at 2 a.m. in this particular restaurant, then at my watch. Then I went outside to a patio-type area and looked up at the sign, then I looked down the road. Apparently this particular surreal dining establishment was a chain, and there was another one — in walking distance. As the realization set in that he was probably waiting at that particular one, I took a deep breath and started heading that way.
What was in store for me?
The world will never know. I woke up. Not even to my alarm. I just. woke. up. As if my mind was reminding me of this, right?
That’s some serious conditioning of the mind, y’all. Limits won’t even be tested during a REM cycle. Wild. (Or, not so wild, which in this case is a good thing.)