THAT DAY

It's New Year's Day. A hundred people fill the house--we throw a big annual party. This year we play strange games. Cory the shaman brings one called the Transformation Game. Four of us sit down to play it...

In the Transformation Game, you first pose a question about your life. Mine was: "How can I have fun with others, not just alone?" I love dreamwork, painting, writing, but it's all solitary work, and poorly paid. Must be SOMETHING I can do with others!

Next, the deal: we get cards representing talents and virtues. I'm dealt a shockingly strong hand. More stuff than I know what to do with.

The play: we have to find opportunities to use those talents in the world, and progress toward enlightenment. I lag behind! All those talents never manifest fully, because I can't find people who value what I do. Spend most of the game just spinning wheels alone, skill-building. A huge collection of powers by the end, with no outlet. Only late in life, when I'm resigned to being a failure, do I start to find people who share my interests and values. And then, to my surprise, I zoom ahead!

Quite eerie; the game really did seem to describe my situation. The only hint of a solution seems to be... quit seeking people I like. I've been doing that, and I'm pretty clear about them. But I also need to consider if they understand or appreciate me and what I can do. Not so good at that.

Now the party's over. Fun, but exhausting. Now I can relax! I really do like solitude--just not every damn second.

I write up a vivid dream for the World Dream Bank, Franchise, about the first woman in major league basball. The guys won't play with her, so she starts a team of mutants. But they fight all day, lacking even the idea of cooperation. As long as it's not mayhem, they think that's teamwork.

Yep, that's my life too! Chronic illness left me with low standards--long as I'm not miserable or sick as a dog, I'm happy! Quarrels and malaise seem like peace and health.

THAT NIGHT...

DREAM 1: FRACTURE

Viola is one of the first women to break into major league baseball. They had to take her, she was just too good--at eighteen, she's already a star.

But then, sliding into a base, there's a pile-up. Snap! She can't get up. Her shin is broken! The other team helps lift her, only... they're pulling her leg. She screams in pain. Are they deliberately worsening her injury? I can't prove it, but they stand to gain. Her team was a Series contender, largely due to her. But if Viola's out for weeks or months, the opposing team has a better chance.

One unexpected result of her injury: it may have speeded her marriage! She was planning to get married anyway at the end of the playing season, but as long as she suddenly has weeks of free time... well, why not now?

Her fiancé's glad. He was tired of waiting.

It's an odd honeymoon: he carries her over the threshold all right, but then lugs her on through the suite all the way to the bed, just as he carried her all the way from the car--because she's still in a cast from knee to (sprained) ankle, and will be for weeks yet...

Oh, well. Suddenly, weeks of vacation, healing, sleep and sex all sound pretty good to Viola. She misses the baseball diamond, but the little one on her finger says there's more than one game in life to play.

I dream Viola's playing again. But not the same game; Viola's purring in my arms. But it's not what you think. Well, probably not. See, I borrowed a friend's viola--I want to learn how to play.

So far, so bad. Viola's owner grumbles "What a God-awful noise! Clearly this is NOT your instrument." I'd accept to his professional judgment, but a little detail makes me skeptical. You see, he started in nagging before he even handed me the bow. I was just plucking Viola's strings gently to see how they're tuned, how to finger without fretting. I demand the bow; he hands it over reluctantly. I thrum Viola's strings, learning to play slowly and cautiously... tuning out all his criticism..

You know, I'm grateful to him. He showed me his bias so blatantly BEFORE I had the bow: now I can discount him easier. He's just... pulling my leg.

Viola and I have a wonderful practice session. Practicing more than music.

1: FRACTURE

• Baseball: dating/sex. Adolescent scars make dating feel like work for me--anxious, exhausting work.
• Broken shin or ankle: I woke with a very sore back.
• Other team "pulling her leg": a practical joke? In Franchise, the violence wasn't play; they saw it as normal. No clue about teamwork!
• Slowdown leads to marriage: Less work might lead to love. But what's less work mean to a weirdo like me? Dating feels more like work than just painting at home.
• Or do I still have to marry someone inside before I'll be ready to... cross the threshold?

• The viola-owner in the second dream is a petty saboteur, just like the opposing team in the first dream.
• Viola or cello? the dream instrument was played upright like a cello, but was smaller, if rather large for a viola.
• Play without fretting and it all just flows--sex, music, and fun. Ooh, bad pun! Ban me from the game!
• ACTION: do exactly what I please for a while, and tune all the critics out. Especially the ones I carry around.

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