I had a dream the other night. I think it safe sharing it with you. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to tell anyone, right? Aw, heck, it is Freedom Friday so if you feel like telling someone, go ahead. I won’t stop you.
I dreamt I was leading a marching band. One of those big, fat New Orleans’ marching bands. You know the kind, with the flutes shrilling, trumpets blaring, and drums banging. I blew on my whistle, twirled my baton—the whole bit, really. I was in my element. As I led the zombie-like musicians through the street (they weren’t zombies, they just followed me that way), an elephant appeared right in our path. I kid you not. It stood there not moving. We had to come to an abrupt halt. No more shrilling, blaring or banging. And no more whistling or twirling for me. A dead stop.
I looked at the elephant hoping my stare would cause it to move. It didn’t move. It just thrust its trunk back and forth, and blew a heavy sound. All I wanted it to do was for it to move from our path in order for us to continue doing what we did best—make music. It wasn’t having any of it. It sat its dump truck behind on the pavement and wouldn’t budge.
When I awoke, I immediately wondered what I had eaten the night before. It was unusual to have a dream this vivid and remember it in detail the next morning. I thought back on those tacos stuffed with spicy meat, shredded cheese and delicious salsa. It couldn’t have been the tacos. I wasn’t burping them through my nose.
As nighttime neared, I prepared for sleep. My nighttime ritual consists of kissing my wife, saying goodnight to the kids, changing into my PJs, brushing my teeth, going to the bathroom and making up the bed. It’s during the course of making up the bed that my mind races a mile a minute recapping the day’s events. It was here where the thought of the elephant kept pounding my head. It wouldn’t let go. Stupid elephant.
That same night, I fell asleep and dreamt of the same big, fat New Orleans’ marching band. The same flutes shrilling, trumpets blaring, and drums banging. And of the same stupid elephant sitting its massive rump on the pavement where we needed to pass. The next morning I was at a loss. Is it possible someone was trying to tell me something? Was my subconscious playing tricks on me? Had I crossed over to the throes of insanity, never to regain my tempered state?
Therefore, I did what any other person would have done on the brink of a mental breakdown. I told a friend. I blurted out everything, the band, the elephant—everything. My friend thought for a moment and said, “Don’t ask, why the elephant got in your way. Ask, why you were leading a big ass marching band.”
Could I have missed the obvious? I was so busy worrying about the elephant that I’d forgotten about the band. Once I looked at it that way, I wondered where all the cheerleaders were.
Ever have strange dreams? Care to share? Promise, we won’t tell.