“I dreamed I met a Galilean
A most amazing man
He had that look
You very rarely find
The haunting hunted kind” – Pilate’s Dream, Jesus Christ Superstar

Earlier this week, I had a dream that involved a cheerful campfire scene, but we weren’t roasting hot dogs over the fire. I remember saying mine was delicious in response to the question posed by a perky happy little girl.

The symbolic made literal? Sublimated rage? Freudian envy? Displaced desire? All I know is that was one very odd form of communion.

Last night, another.

It started as one of the recurring forest dreams that I thought I had left behind. Twilight. Voices up in the treetops. Being watched. Movement around me.

But this time, no nightmare figure, no chase, no one to confront (and thereby transform).

Instead, I entered a passageway down into and under the ground, where there was a cavern with a mirror of water surrounded by candles in the center. I did not touch its surface, but I looked into it.

My form was changed. The details of my appearance were blurred and rounded, so that it was like looking at a version of me as a doll. The eyes and mouth and hair blurred into insignificance, but the flesh was hyper-detailed and moving slightly, independently.

There was a gash across my chest – not above my heart but on the other side, halfway down my breast and 4-5 inches across.

I couldn’t stop looking at the damage. The wound was horizontal and neat, and I could see layers and layers of skin and flesh and structures underneath that were far too complicated and convoluted to have much to do with real anatomy. There was no blood. There was no pain. There was movement within.

I was afraid to probe the damage, and I didn’t know how to fix it. The doll in the water mirror said “I’m sorry.” The candles flared up, and sputtered out.

“Turn Around,” They Might Be Giants

I was working all night in my office
When a man I had recently killed
Called me up from a phone near my building
So I looked out the window at him

He had the same obsequious manner
That was the reason I had him killed
So to calm my nerves, I sang this song
To him over the phone

Turn around, turn around
There’s a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
It’s a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground, turn around

I was out by myself in the graveyard
I was doing an interpretive dance
When I felt something heavy and pointed
Strike me in the back of the neck

And then the ghost of my dance instructor
Pushed me down into an open grave
And as dirt rained down she played a xylophone
And sang me this song

Turn around, turn around
There’s a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
It’s a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground, turn around

We were waving our arms out the window
Of a fast moving passenger train
Acting in an irresponsible fashion
Until the engineer whose back had been turned

And who we thought would find us highly amusing
Quickly swiveled his head around
And his face which was a paper white mask of evil
Sang us this song

Turn around, turn around
(‘Round, ’round)
There’s a thing there that can be found
(There’s a thing there that can be found)
Turn around, turn around
(‘Round, ’round)
It’s a human skull on the ground
(It’s a human skull on the ground)
Human skull on the ground, turn around
(‘Round, turn around, turn around)

Turn around, turn around
(‘Round, ’round)
There’s a thing there that can be found
(There’s a thing there that can be found)
Turn around, turn around
(‘Round, ’round)
It’s a human skull on the ground
(It’s a human skull on the ground)
Human skull on the ground, turn around
(‘Round, turn around, turn around)