In this dream I’m
getting ready for the trip to Timor. We are in the departure hall but
it looks more like a large Asian train station than Darwin airport.
There are lots of food stalls and I line up at one with a very long
queue. It’s so long that I can’t see what is actually for sale.
As I get closer I
see that it is a bakery with all sorts of bread. The loaves come in
lots of different shapes but nothing is sliced. There are also no
small things – no rolls, no pastries or pies… nothing that would
be easy to take away. I ask the lady if she can slice a loaf and she
solemnly shakes her head.
I take the large
loaf of bread in a plastic bag and head to the departure gate. It
looks like some sort of fun run – everyone is getting dressed up in
vests with numbers and being organised into teams. I’m not sure
where I belong but get swallowed up by a big group of people. Once
I’ve put on my vest, they strap a harness on, which is then
attached to a number of very long strings like a parachute. Someone
brings over a giant balloon and it is attached meticulously to the
strings.
I look around and
it’s hard to discern who is doing all this intricate work, but in
the blink of an eye, the balloon is inflated and I am floating high
above the ground. It is only then I realise that the departure hall
leads straight into a tunnel with a very high ceiling. I float into
the tunnel, tugging on the strings to control my direction.
Soon I come to some
paper flags which represent obstacles in the tunnel. I’m still
trying to understand exactly what is happening – I’m partaking in
a helium balloon race through a tunnel where I have to avoid paper
flags? I feel confused but I duck under one set of paper flags and
float above another set. A little further on, there is a more complex
obstacle involving three sets of flags very close together. I manage
to pass it without knocking the flags down, but my leg brushes
against one of the flags.
There are a bunch of
people ahead welcoming me to the ground. My leg tingles where it
brushed against the flag and I struggle to get down. A crowd of
people detach me from all the parachute/balloon stuff and I am guided
against a wall. They congratulate me on being the winner, and I tell
them I couldn’t have won since I touched one of the flags.
They ignore me and
start mixing up paint in a palette. That’s it, the second phase
is a face painting competition.
I think to myself. A lady comes up to me and she has only black
on her palette. She
raises her brush and touches it to my ear. A cold wet slimy feeling
enters my ear canal and I flinch away from her.
You must do this
to complete the competition. She
says to me.
I
walk away from her and into the darkness of the tunnel. Not too far
away from all the face painting, there is a table with a pile of LPs.
I see my colleague from work there and greet him, but he doesn’t
seem to remember me. I’m digging through the LPs, trying to calm
myself down still from the insanity of the balloon race and someone
trying to paint my ear black. I see an LP titled “Conservative
violin music” and my father’s picture is on the front of the LP.
I’m so astonished to see this that I want to take a photo to show
my dad.
At
that moment I turn around and see the lady with the black paint who
has followed me.
You need your
certificate of completion. She
says sternly. And then I wake up.
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